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y 4 UNSTED STATES OF AMERICA. 















































BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 


Will shortly he published, 


A sequel to THE HONEYMOON, entitled 


THROUGH THE AGES 

A PSYCHOLOGICAL ROMANCE, 


IN THREE VOLUMES. 











THE 


HOHEYMOOH. 




REMEMBRANCE OF A BRIDAL TOUR 
THROUGH SCOTLAND. 


BY THE 



COUNT DE MEDINA POMAR. 

i» 

AUTHOR OF “ESTUDIOS ACERCA DEL PROGRESO DEL ESPIRITU,” 
“ LA RELIGION MODERNA,” ETC. 



VOL. I. 


A 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. L I P P I N C 0 T T & CO. 


1 874 . 





“ Perplex’d in faith, but pure in deeds, 

At last he beat his music out ; 

There lives more faith in honest doubt, 

Believe me, than in half the creeds. 

“ He fought his doubts and gather’d strength ; 

He would not make his judgment blind; 

He faced the- spectres of the mind, 

And laid them.: thus he came at length 

“ To find a stronger faith his own 

And Power was with him in the night, 

Which makes the darkness and the light, 

And dwells not in the light alone, 

“ But in the darkness and the cloud.” —Tennyson. 




DEDICATION. 


To the Countess of Caithness. 

To thee, my dearest Mother, on my nineteenth birthday, I 
dedicate “ The Honeymoon,” my first attempt in the 
English language. 

Medina-Pomar. 


Stagenhoe Park, Herts, 
23d September . 








\ 













































CONTENTS. 


THE MARRIAGE, . 

PAGE 

CHAPTER I. 

..... 1 

> 

CHAPTER H. 

GLASGOW, 

20 

RELIGIOUS SCRUPLES, 

CHAPTER III. 

. .... 34 

DUMBARTON, 

CHAPTER IV. 

, . . , * 70 

CHAPTER V. 


THE PUNISHMENT OF PRJDE : A LEGEND, ... 82 


THE KYLES OF BUTE, 

CHAPTER VI. 

• . *, » . 114 

THE FIRST SUNDAY, 

CHAPTER VII. 

127 


127 




VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE ROMAN CATHOLiC CHURCH, . 

• 

• 

PAGE 

142 

FAITH AND REASON, 

CHAPTER IX. 

• 

• 

174 

LOCH LOMOND, 

CHAPTER X. 

*• • • 

• 

• 

185 

THE BRIDE OF LESS, 

CHAPTER XI. 

• • • 

• 

* 

* 

198 

TARBET, 

CHAPTER XII. 

• • • 

• 

• 

214 

A MOONLIGHT WALK, 

CHAPTER XIII. 

• • • 

• 

• 

« 

219 

THE SUNRISE ON THE 

CHAPTER XIV. 

LAKE, 


• 

243 


i 






THE HONEYMOON. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

The second of July 18 — was the happiest day of 
my life, for on that day I was united for ever to the 
purest and loveliest woman that has ever existed in 
this world. 

Concepcion Vargas was in truth one of those angels 
that heaven sends sometimes upon earth to console 
men, and help them to bear their cross. Born under 
the bright sun of Andalusia, and educated in a con¬ 
vent at Seville, the young girl to whom I can now 
give the sweet name of wife, was the realisation of 
the ideal of perfection that I so often had dreamt 
about, and that I had almost given up the hope of 
finding in this world, where vanity and selfishness 
seem almost to rule. 

An orphan at the age of twenty-one, when I had 
but just come into possession of the large fortune that, 
by the death of my father, Lord Carlton, belonged to 

I. A 




2 


The Honeymoon. 


me, T found myself alone in that immense and over- 
populated desert called London. I did not know of 
a friend on whom to rely in my sorrow; for although 
many of the college companions of my youth called 
themselves my friends, they were as foreign to my 
heart as the undertakers who had just borne from my 
sight the cold body that had once been my mother. 

My sorrow was intense : my mother had been, till 
then, the only friend I had known ; and in her alone 
I had placed all my love, all my interest. I loved her 
more than a mother; for since my father's death, that 
had taken place several years before, when I was but 
a boy, she had been to me father, mother, sister, friend; 
for we two had been left alone in the world together. 

While she was by my side, I never felt the want 
of a family, for she filled the whole of my existence 
with that love that only a mother can give ; but I 
suppose God had only been preparing and educating 
her sw T eet spirit for a higher and a better life; and He 
who had given her to me took her away when the 
purpose of her earth-life had been accomplished. 

Oh, that mine had but finished at the same time ! 

Lady Carlton had been a model of women, of daufdi- 
ters, of wives, and of mothers ; and so her fate gave 
me but little anxiety. I had too much confidence in 
the Supreme Being who so admirably and wisely rules 
our steps, to doubt of His justice and of His mercy. 
I know that the good actions of my mother and her 
exemplary life could but be rewarded as they should 
by that All-powerful Being to whom men have given 


The Marriage. 3 

the name of God; and this conviction consoled me, 
mitigating my sorrow, and soothing my grief. 

Death ! I tried to make myself believe is but a 
word, in reality it does not exist; the same as birth, 
they are but words made by men to express ideas 
which they scarcely understand. Man has never seen 
a being born or die : he has seen a spirit appear under 
the form of a germ, in an embryotic existence ; some 
time after he has seen this spirit disappear, and his 
body dissolve into its component material substances ; 
but as for the principle which gave life to this form, 
it has always escaped his comprehension. Yet it 
continues to exist. I am sure of that. My mother’s 
love for me was more than human—it was more than 
a mere material passion. She had a pure and noble 
spirit that gave life to her fair form, but from whence 
it came and whither it has gone are both mysteries 
to me, for, as Boucher de Perthes remarked with so 
much reason, “ Everything changes, but nothing dies.” 
If the decomposition of the body were the end of 
man’s life, we should have to admit a creator who 
unmakes with one hand what he makes with the 
other, or two rival powers, two powerful beings, one 
creative and the other destructive. The ancient 
Brahmins must have believed this when they esta¬ 
blished the worship of the two Gods, Brahma and 
Siva, the first the almighty creator, the second the 
destroyer, both of whom, gifted with equal power, 
ruled according to their creed, the universe under the 
protection of the god Brahm. 



4 


The Honeymoon. 

In this way, thousands of years ago, did the ancient 
Hindoos solve the problem that now, as then, puzzled 
the human understanding. 

But if these phenomena of nature seem to us so 
contradictory, is it because they are so, or is it not 
rather because we are ignorant of their laws \ Yet 
men will believe in anything rather than in their 
own ignorance: We have only one thing to guide 
us in this, as in every problem, Reason—and reason 
condemns this theory. Oh ! let us beware of believ¬ 
ing anything that stands against reason; God did 
not give us this great blessing in order that we might 
believe unreasonable doctrines. The order of nature 
is one , because God the universal Father is one, and 
and for this reason is his work called the Universe , 

It is, therefore, impossible to admit two such powers, 
for, according to this doctrine, that destroys the 
unity of action, and changes the equilibrium that 
rules the universe, there would be left in the world 
nothing but death and desolation. This would be 
less than nothing, it is the dissolution of matter and 
the annihilation of spirit, it is chaos. 

But it is enough to cast one look over the 
wonderful universe that surrounds us, in order to see 
the falsity of this doctrine, everything there lives, 
everything participates in that divine breath that 
gives life to matter; everything in the universe lives, 
and yet they would have us believe that death alone 
rules in it ! The very bodies of those we have so loved 
and that are no more, are, at this moment, full of life, 



5 


The Marriage. 

full of animation. And this is only the house—can 
its inhabitant have perished ? 

“Oh! convince me of this,” I cried, “and it will 
be enough to make me die too, Tell me that my 
mother has died, and that she is lost to me now and 
for ever; prove it, and you will find me a cold corpse 
a moment afterwards. Our life depends, a great deal 
more than we allow ourselves to think, on that of 
those who have gone before us to the other side of the 
grave. Somebody has said we live with the dead; 
yes, we live with them, for what is our existence but a 
succession of remembrances and hopes ? The past and 
the future ! And both are based upon one ideal which 
we shall never be able to realise in this world. 
The present is nothing to us, it is but an instant, and 
we very seldom appreciate its importance, but the 
past and the future are an eternity-—an eternity that is 
equalty dear to us, and this eternity can it not be, 
even as Bulwer suggested, “ a succession of those 
transitions that men have called life and death ? ” 
Some years previously I had heard Victor Hugo 
pronounce, over the grave of a young girl that death 
had just taken from her parents, a discourse that will 
never fade away from my mind.* 

“ In a few weeks we have been occupied with two 
sisters ; we have married the one, and we are now 
burying the other. Such are the perpetual changes 
of life. Let us bow, my friends, before its severe 

destinjr. 

* It was in Guernsey during the year 1865. 



6 The Honeymoon. 

“ Let us bow with hope. Our eyes were not made 
for weeping, but in order that we might see ; our hearts 
were not made for suffering, but in order that we might 
believe. The faith in another existence proceeds from 
the faculty of Joving. Do not forget this, in this incon¬ 
stant life of ours, it is the heart that believes. The 
son believes that he will again find his father, and the 
mother never consents to lose her son forever. This 
faith that makes us refuse the idea of annihilation is 
the greatness of man. 

“ The heart cannot mislead us. Flesh is but a 
dream, it soon passes away. If this decomposition 
were to be the end of man, it would take away from 
our life all its pleasure and object ; we cannot be 
satisfied with vapour ; we want a certainty. In 
spite of being loved, man feels that not one of the 
points on which he rests is on this earth. To love is 
to live beyond this world. Without this faith, none 
of the perfect gifts of the heart would be possible ; 
to love, which is the object of man’s existence, would 
be a torment. This paradise would turn into a hell. 
No, let us say with a loud voice, the being who loves 
needs immortality. The heart needs the soul. 

“ There is a heart in this coffin, and this heart 
lives, and at this moment is listening to our words. 

“ Emily de Putron was the pride of a loving and 
united family. Her smiles were sunshine to her 
parents. She was a flower of beauty in her paternal 
home. From her cradle, every tenderness surrounded 
her; she had grown up happy ; and receiving happi- 


The Marriage. 7 

ness, she gave it to others ; fondly loved, she loved 
in return. She has just gone. 

“Where?—To darkness? No; it is we who are 
in the dark. She is in the light of heaven, receiving 
her recompense. Those young girls who have done 
no evil during their lives, are the holy ones of the 
grave, and their heads rise slowly out of the tomb 
towards a mysterious crown that awaits them. 

“ Emily de Putron has gone to find there supreme 
serenity, the completion of her innocent existence. 
She has gone away! Youth, towards eternity; 
beauty, towards the ideal ; hope, towards certainty ; 
love, towards the infinite ; pearl, towards the ocean ; 
spirit, towards God. 

“ The wonderful part of this great celestial journey 
that is called death, is that those who go away do not 
leave us. They are in a world of light, but they 
visit, although unknown to us, our world of dark¬ 
ness. They are at once above us and at our side. 

“ Oh thou, whoever thou art, who hast seen the 
body of a beloved being disappear in the darkness of 
the grave, do not make yourself unhappy. He is 
always there. He is at your side, closer even than he 
was while on earth. The beauty of death is the 
presence, the indescribable presence, of the souls we 
love smiling at our tearful eyes. The being we 
mourn has disappeared, he has not gone away, we no 

longer see its sweet face.the dead are the 

invisible, they are not the absent. 

“ Let us give full justice to death. Ho not let us be 



8 


The Honeymoon . 

ungrateful to it. Death is not, as it is so often said, 
a separation and a forgetfulness. It is a mistake to 
believe that here, in the obscurity of this open grave, 
everything is lost. Here everything is found anew. 

“ The grave is a place of restitution. Here the soul 
gains back the infinite ; here it finds its full powers; 
here it comes into possession of its mysterious nature ; 
free from the body, free from wants and pains, free 
from burden, free from everything. Death is the 
greatest of liberators. It also is the greatest of 
progressors. Death is the augmentation of all that 
has arrived to the superior degree of all the superior 
qualities. Every one receives therefrom his augmen¬ 
tation. Everything is transfigured in the light and 
by the light. He who has been honest on earth 
becomes beautiful; he who has been beautiful be¬ 
comes sublime ; he who has been sublime becomes 
good.” 

This philosophical and spiritual discourse had made 
an extraordinary impression upon my heart, but I 
did not arrive at its full meaning, I did not com¬ 
prehend nor understand all its beauties to their full 
extent, till the moment when my mother’s death 
came to plunge me, in my turn, into the deepest 
grief. 

In spite of this, hope, that ministering angel that 
God sends to console and sustain man in his deepest 
sorrows, came to my rescue, and I tried to convince 
myself that my grief, after all, was only selfishness, 
and that I ought instead to be glad that my mother 


The Marriage. 9 

had at last quitted this miserable world, and taken 
her place among the angels in heaven. 

Such was the train of thought that occupied my 
mind; my sorrow was not so much caused by her 
absence as by the solitude in which her death had left 
me. I saw myself alone in the world where I had 
been so happy in her company. I did not dare to 
weep for her death—such a thing seemed to me a 
sacrilege, an open opposition to God’s law. Moreover, 
her happiness did not make me in the least uneasy, 
the same faith that prevented my shedding tears upon 
her grave assured me of that. But mine ? What 
was going to become of me \ Alone ! I who had never 
left her side for a single day ! 

One day, soon after her death, I received the fol¬ 
lowing letter, and this short epistle restored to me by 
slow degrees my spiritual strength. It ran thus :— 

“ My Dear Walter,— A great blow has fallen upon 
you. I must see you, and console you. I appreciated 
the one you so loved. But I do not grieve for her. 
You also, my friend, ought to see farther than the 
horizon, and then you would believe, as I do, in the 
reality of the future life. But it is not to you to 
whom I should say hope. You are a philosopher, and 
what is more, a man with a heart. 

“ You should not grieve for the death of your 
mother. Do you think for a moment that she has 
left you ? No, I at least am sure that she is always 
at your side, guarding and guiding you—invisible to 
your eyes, but not so to your heart. You have lost 




io The Honeymoon. 

tlie outward form of the mother, it is true, hut not 
the mother’s love and guiding care.” 

After reading this consoling, manly, and feeling 
letter several times, I resolved to go and see this 
friend. A man who could write with so much convic¬ 
tion and earnestness about immortality, must have at 
least sure proofs of its truth. Not that I doubted it 
for a moment, but that in my anxiety, and in my 
present frame of mind, I wanted some one with whom 
I could converse freely upon this, the most important, 
in my case, of all questions. 

I therefore went to my country-house in the north 
of England, near which this friend resided. But the 
sight of the ancient mansion of my fathers only 
made the few days that I spent there sadder still. 
The sight of those deserted drawing-rooms, that I 
so often had seen full of friends in my past happy 
and joyous days, that immense hall, where my mother 
had so often played with me when a child, filled my 
heart with the most profound grief, and not even the 
consoling words of my friend, nor my philosophical 
speculations, could divert my mind from the dread¬ 
ful contrast of the present with the past. 

Allen Adare, this was the name of my friend, seeing 
me in such a state, and observing that my health 
was also becoming affected by my long meditations 
and inaction, resolved on taking me awav from those 
sad remembrances of the past. 

I, in my turn, was only too glad to quit England. 
Its damp climate, and its dull and heavy atmosphere 

i 


The Marriage . 11 

had, 1 thought, a great deal to do with my illness. 
Could I but see the sun, breathe the fresh air of 
heaven, I thought I should soon recover and master 
my sadness. 

Allen Adare and I started, therefore, on a journey 
that we meant at the time to last at least a year, at 
the end of which some new train of ideas, (such was 
his language,) would make me forget the shock that 
at present was only too fresh in my mind. 

France was the first country we visited. 

We spent at least a month in Paris, but this gay 
city, that I had so much admired when I saw it for 
the first time with my mother a few years previously, 
could not on this occasion dissipate the grief that 
consumed me by slow degrees. I wanted something 
new, new places and new people. It was the month 
of November, and the winter was just beginning, 
accompanied with all its miseries. We proceeded 
then south to Spain, and after visiting Madrid, and 
two or three other towns, we determined to spend 
the winter in Seville. 

It was there I found the angel that was to console 
me at last, and that was to change the whole of my ex¬ 
istence, restoring to my heart the happiness I had lost. 

It seems so strange to talk of sorrow and grief, 
now that I am so happy ! but the remembrance of the 
sad past seems to make my present only the brighter. 

Surely, surely, my friend was right, and my angel 
mothers watchful love had guided me to happiness 
a^ain. 

O 


12 The Honeymoon . 

During my stay in the ancient capital of the Moors, 

I frequented the tertulias of the Countess de Fuen- 
carral; these kind of receptions, only known in Spain, 
brought me into frequent contact with several persons 
whom otherwise I should have utterly ignored. 

Of those the one with whom I was most intimate 
was Doha Manuela Vargas, a lady of middle age, 
widow of a colonel in the Spanish army, who had 
died in the seven years’ war against the Carlists. 
This lady was one of those few women who bring life 
and animation wherever they go ; her wit was great, 
and her accomplishments, although she did not in the 
least make a show of them, were brilliant and 
numerous. 

She offered me her house, according to the old 
Spanish fashion, and I lost no time in going to see 
her. Our friendship grew deeper every day, and the 
more I saw of her the more I liked her. 

One day she told me that she had a daughter of 
nineteen in a convent near the town in Friana, and 
that she wanted her to come and live with her ; for 
although she was very happy with the nuns, she was 
almost too old to be with them as a school-girl, and 
she would never consent to her taking the veil, and 
thus to lose her only child for ever. 

I naturally approved of this decision, in spite of 
being a Roman Catholic. I did not at all like the 
idea of a young girl shutting herself up for ever in a 
convent. This seemed to me against all the laws of 
God and nature. 



1 3 


The Marriage. 

<L> 

La Seiiora de Vargas and myself drove down that 
afternoon to see her daughter at the Carmelite con¬ 
vent, on the other side of the bright Guadalquivir. 

We were shown first into a dark, half-Moorish, half- 
Gothic cell, and afterwards we passed into that myste¬ 
rious room where the world ends and the seclusion of 
the monastery begins. The iron gate was opened by 
some unseen nun, and out of the darkness of the inner 
cell there came into the old Moorish apartment a per¬ 
fect vision of light, the most beautiful creature that I 
had ever beheld. 

It would be impossible to paint her beauty, for it 
was felt rather than seen. It would be impossible to 
describe those bright yet dreamy eyes, half hidden 
by long and dark lashes. Her hair was of the bright¬ 
est gold, and as glittering. At that moment, illumin¬ 
ated by the rich full colours of the old painted windows, 
she looked like a Conception of Murillo’s stepping out 
of her frame—a blonde aux yeux noirs such as we 
only see in the ideal pictures of the saints. 

Her dress was the plain blue serge worn by the 
school-girls of the convent, and her head was covered 
by the whitest cap of French muslin, open at the back 
to allow two long and abundant golden tresses to escape, 
which nearly touched the ground. 

Her dress, her figure, her face, the dark back-ground 
aoninst which she stood, the surrounding pictures and 
coloured windows, the entire aspect of the apartment, 
made such an impression upon me, that when Doha 
Manuela said, “ Concepcion ven d mi corazon,” I really 


14 The Honeymoon. 

thought that I beheld the Virgin herself coming from 
the interior of the holy church in her most beautiful 
and divine of impersonations, as we see her represented 
in the famous pictures of the Conception both at 
Madrid, at Seville, and at the Louvre. 

The impression was so great, that I nearly fell at her 
feet, as if bending my knees before the mother of God. 

But this was only for a moment, for the next found 
her in the arms of her mother; and there, warmed by 
the maternal heart, her cheeks bloomed with the 
freshest and most delicate of rose tints. 

In this position, that aroused her earthly love 
and affections, she looked scarcely less lovely, per¬ 
haps more so to me, as she seemed more within my 
reach. 

The happiness that the beautiful Concepcion showed 
when she saw her mother made me almost forget my 
sorrows ; and the day that I passed by the side of 
this innocent and bright angel was the first happy 
one that I had experienced since the death of my 
mother. 

She heard the news of her leaving the convent 
with tears in her eyes. “ Don’t you like the idea, 
Senorita,'of leaving the college ? ” I asked her. 

“ Yes,” she answered, in the rich language of Cer¬ 
vantes, “ I like it because it is the will of my 
mother, but I am afraid I shall never be so happy in 
the world as I have been here amongst my flowers 
and my books, beloved by the nuns and by my com¬ 
panions.” 






i5 


The Marriage. 

There was so much innocence, so much feeling, in 
those few words, that my heart nearly burst when 
they were uttered. “ Poor young girl! ” I thought, 
“ how many wrong notions those ignorant old women 
must have given her about the world and its inhabi¬ 
tants ! ” 

When we were returning in the carriage from the 
convent, I could not restrain myself from giving ex¬ 
pression to what my heart was so full of. “ What a 
beautiful daughter you have, Dona Manuela,” I said ; 
“ she is indeed a Concepcion, and a real conception ! ” 

“We all call her Concha or Conchita,” said the 
over-joyed mother, “ we think it is shorter and 
prettier.” Then, changing her bright smile for a 
more serious look, she continued, “ I am sorry to be 
obliged to take her away from that convent, there 
she is happy, and she is well cared for by the sisters. 
Who knows, as she herself said, if she will be the 
same in the world ? The countess has promised to 
present her to the Infanta, the Duchess de Montpen- 
sier, that will, perhaps, bring her into notice.” 

“ Oh ! ” I answered impatiently, “ I am sure she 
will make a great sensation in the palace of San 
Telmo. I am only afraid that you wont have her 
with you long after she comes out.” 

“ Do you think so, Lord Carlton ? I fear, on the 
contrary, that she will pass unnoticed, and that she 
will at last have to return as a nun to the convent 
that now she quits as a girl. You see we are poor, 
and we have no name. She is beautiful, I can not 


16 The Honeymoon. 

deny that, but wliat is the use of beauty ? She is 
too natural, too innocent, too retiring to attract the 
attention of the world/’ 

A week after, a great ball took place in the palace 
of the Countess de Fuencarral, to celebrate the coming 
out of Concha Vargas. 

I had the pleasure of dancing with her, as a 
foreigner, her first valse, and if I had thought her 
beautiful in the dark cell of the monastery, when 
dressed as a school girl, how splendid and dazzling 
did I not think her now, enveloped in clouds of white 
tulle, and in a brilliantly lighted room ! 

From that instant the young men of Seville almost 
abandoned the former belles, and dedicated all their 
attentions to the new beauty that had appeared 
amongst them, for, even in the luxurious saloons of 
the ancient capital of Andalusia, so proverbial for the 
witching beauty and loveliness of its dark eyed 
daughters, Conchita was the most beautiful, the 
most lovely, the most attractive of them all. 

Her pearly white skin, and the profusion of golden 
tresses that fell over her shoulders, made, I think, a 
great impression, contrasting with the dark haired 
and proud Spanish beauties. 

I observed her during all the rest of the season, 
and I saw, with great pleasure to myself, though I 
could not then tell why, that she received the 
courtesy and flattery of the aristocratic youths of 
Seville with the greatest indifference. 

From the night of that first ball I managed to 


l 7 


The Marriage. 

see her every day, sometimes I met her with her 
mother in the cloisters of the cathedral, sometimes I 
saw her in the saloons of the ducal palace of the 
Montpensiers or in the gardens of the Moorish 
Alcazar; frequently I met her at friends’ houses. 
She attracted me in a manner most inexplicable to 
me, but that always compelled me to follow her. At 
first it was her face that seemed to fascinate me, but 
soon I found that her soul had even greater power 
over my heart. 

Her conversation was so agreeable, so full of senti¬ 
ment, so interesting. She alone had been able to 
make me forget my great loss, for which I was still 
in the deepest mourning. Life had been as a blank 
to me before I had met her, but now she filled the 
empty space that another love had so recently left in 
my heart, for, as La Rochefoucauld said ,—“ In the 
human heart there is a perpetual generation of 
passions, so that the ruin of one is almost always 
the foundation of another.” 

When I compared her with the other young ladies 
of my acquaintance, her charms seemed to grow 
greater and greater. What a difference between her 
and the English girls that are either so cold or so fast, 
and all, more or less, modelled after one pattern, or 
the Spanish beauties, so proud, so passionate, so 
jealous of their beauty. In her, everything was 
natural, sympathetic, pure. 

The day that I ventured to declare my love, I 
thought I should have died, fearing she would answer 
I." B 



i8 


The Honeymoon. 

me that she loved another. But it was not so, and 
I soon found that she loved me as much as I 
loved her. 

I asked her hand of her mother, and la Sehora cle 
Vargas answered me with tears in her eyes, that she 
only wanted to insure the happiness of her daughter, 
and that if she loved me, our union would be blessed 
by her with all her heart. 

On the morrow our engagement was in everybody’s 
mouth. With what pride did I not receive the con¬ 
gratulations and good wishes of my friends ! 

We decided that Madame Vargas and Conchita 
should come with me to England in order to accustom 
her to the new country, and to the new society in 
which she was to live and move in the future, and so 
as not to separate her all at once from her mother. 

We left Seville early in April en route for London. 
Allen Adare accompanied us as far as Paris, where he 
left us on his. way to Baden. 

I shall always remember with pleasure my stay in 
Spain. I had arrived there the most miserable of men, 
and lo ! I returned from thence the happiest of lovers. 

Such are the changes of life. One day the sun 
may shine upon our sorrows, and the next it may 
dawn upon our happiness, everything in this world is 
so uncertain. But we should not complain, for this 
very uncertainty is, perhaps, its greatest charm. 

On the second of July took place the ceremony 
that united our destinies for ever. “ Those whom 
God hath joined together , let no man put asunder.” 


19 


The Marriage. 

That same afternoon we left London by the express 
train for Scotland with the intention of spending 
there our honeymoon. 

This trip, that will always be associated in my 
heart with the dearest remembrances of my life, is the 
subject of this book. It may seem strange to begin 
a book with a marriage ceremony, but how often does 
not man’s life in reality begin with one ? 

In this book I will try to paint some of the 
happiest hours of my life. 

Let us begin therefore 

“ The Honeymoon 



CHAPTER II. 


GLASGOW. 

Glasgow is the second capital of Scotland, and its 
mercantile metropolis. The town is situated in 
Lanarkshire, on the banks of the Clyde, in that place 
where its waters become navigable. The hills of 
Campsie and Kilpatrick form a wall that protects the 
city on the north and on the east. Its climate is 
temperate, on account of its vicinity to the sea and 
the mountains that surround it. This city was 
founded in the year 560 by St Mungo, its patron 
saint. 

Our journey from London to Scotland had been 
made in about twelve hours, and at nine in the 
morning of the 3d of July we arrived in Glasgow. 

The first impression that this great city produces 
upon the stranger who arrives there for the first time 
is in reality not a very agreeable one. Some time 
before entering the town itself, the train passes 
through a country almost uncultivated, and, to a 
great extent, bare and dirty, where nothing meets the 
eye but an innumerable succession of manufactories, 
that seem to have been placed there to announce to 
the stranger the great manufacturing riches of the 


Glasgow . 21 

town to which he is bound. These fabrics are 
generally built of bricks that the smoke and damp 
soon render black. If we look before us towards the 
point of attraction to which we are going with such 
velocity, we can only see a dark mass that extends 
for several miles on the horizon, crowned with thou¬ 
sands of tall chimnies that seem to rise from the dark¬ 
ness below to the pure air and bright atmosphere 
of the skies. Such is the first impression that this 
great city made upon our minds when seen from 
the railway. 

The train, after traversing the suburbs and the 
great manufactories, enters into a tunnel, at the other 
side of which is the station, that, like all the great 
stations, is a labyrinth of trains, carriages, and 
omnibuses. 

I must say that all this bustle and fuss did not in 
the least please Concha, who expected to find the 
Scotland very different that I had painted to her as so 
poetical and so picturesque. She could not but com¬ 
pare this new Babylon with that other metropolis 
even more busy and over-populated that we had just 
quitted. 

The hotel at which we intended stopping was 
situated near the station, and it even had a door that 
opened into it; so leaving my valet in charge of the 
luggage, I gave my arm to my youthful wife and 
went into the hotel. 

This was full, but as I had fortunately written for 
rooms some days before, no sooner had they learnt our 


22 


The Honeymoon . 


names than they conducted us to the little sitting- 
room they had prepared for us, where a quarter of an 
hour afterwards we breakfasted together, Concliita 
and I, as if we had been husband and wife for years ! 

In the afternoon we went out to see the Cathedral. 
This we found to be a beautiful old Gothic church, 
but not of that elegant and elaborate Gothic style 
that we admire so much in the cathedrals of Milan 
and Burgos, but of the gloomy, massive, and cold 
architectural style of the north. 

The exterior is sombre and imposing. A tower of 
some height rises from its centre, and the whole of 
the church is surrounded by a graveyard which used 
to be the burying-place of the ancient inhabitants of 
the diocese. The site that this old minster occupies 
adds a great deal to its dull and melancholy aspect. 
On one side lies the town, but, unfortunately, the 
part of it that one sees is the poorest and oldest, and. 
is more suggestive of decay and misery than of poetry 
and architectural beauty. 

On the other side rises the Necropolis, a hill of 
rather small dimensions, that to-day serves the pur¬ 
pose of cemetery. This burial ground presents a 
striking and solemn aspect when viewed from the 
steps of the old cathedral. On the highest part, that 
rises about 250 feet from the level ground, is situated 
the monument of John Knox. This column of 
granite, straight and solemn, which seems to pierce 
the very skies without the least effort, never bendino* 
its proud top, and looking grimly all the while down * 


Glasgow . 2 3 

upon the church below, struck me as the most appro¬ 
priate emblem of the great reformer’s soul. 

We went into the cathedral by a side door that 
admitted us at once into the great nave. The interior 
of this church is cold and dull, and the obscurity and 
silence that prevail produce a disagreeable sensation. 
The nave was at the time full of tourists, some with 
hats on their heads and hands in their pockets, others 
looking at the ceiling with their opera glasses, none 
seeming in the least to feel that they were in a 
church. 

The effect that a Protestant temple produces on the 
mind is always contrary to that caused by a Catholic 
structure,—that of solitude and sadness. Conchita, I 
suppose, felt this too, for she leant on my arm and 
came as close to my heart as possible. I knew that 
this lonely and damp building displeased her, and 
that her vivid imagination refused this cold and 
monotonous form of adoration, for the serious and 
dark architecture of the Scotch churches does not 
touch the human heart. 

“ What a difference there is between this and the 
Catholic churches ! ” she exclaimed. “ Here they 
make religion the dullest and saddest part of man’s 
life, when it should be, on the contrary, the happiest 
and most joyful act of our whole lives ; for in what 
is there so much pleasure as in talking with one’s own 
Father—with one’s own God ? The consequence is, 
that real devotion is unknown in this country; it 
cannot exist; their mode of adoration cannot inspire 



24 


The Honeymoon. 

them with any holy passion ; it cannot light in their 
hearts any sacred fire; their religion is as cold as 
these bare and dull stones that decorate their churches. 
See there, those men with their hats on their heads, 
do you think that if they felt themselves in a really 
holy place, they would not take them off? I defy 
anybody to go into the Cathedral of Seville without 
feeling moved by something holy, by something that 
tells him that he is in the presence of his Creator 
and Judge.” 

“ You are right, Conchita mia,” I answered her, 
“ the Scotch form of worship is as cold and dull as 
their country ; but this arises only from their char¬ 
acter. That which for us is the object of greatest joy, 
is for them the most serious and solemn act of their 
lives.” 

Concha looked at me for a few seconds, and then 
she said in the full and rich language of Cervantes, 
“ The Catholic church is the church of the heart, the 
other churches are only churches of the mind, this is 
their greatest difference. The Church of God appeals 
to the conscience, to the senses, and to the imaerina- 
tion. The Protestant Church appeals only to the 
human understanding, that, in most cases, is but too 
indifferent or mistaken. The one is based on faith, 
the other on-” 

“ Reason,” I suggested. 

“ Well,” she continued, “ perhaps, but on human 
reason, which may be true or mistaken. In the one, 
you are sure to be right, in the other who can tell ? ” 



Glasgow. 2 5 

“ The Church of Scotland,” I said, “ is admirably 
adapted to their physical temperament ; it would no 
more do for the Latin races than the religion of the 
latter would do for the Scotch, and yet they had the 
same faith not so very long ago, but I am sure that 
even then a great difference must have existed 
between the two : difference that must have found its 
excuse in the distance it was from Rome, and in the 
difficulties of communication which, at that time, were 
so great, and which have only lately, comparatively 
speaking, been removed.” 

“ And they call that Religion ! ” 

“ Yes, my darling ; and it is as true a religion to 
them as yours is to you, or the Koran is to the Arabs. 
They who seem so cold and passive to you, would not 
hesitate in condemning your views, which they would 
even call atheistic if they did not agree with their 
own. They consider everything a sacrilege that 
would render their worship pleasanter and easier, and 
that would soften and make less terrible their idea 
of God.” - 

Conchita gave a sigh and murmured a pra}mr; “ I 
pity them,” she said, and moving on again, we passed 
into the inner church. 

In this second church is placed the altar, or rather 
the communion table, that is just a plain wooden table, 
and the choir with the organ. In this place, used to 
be, in ancient times, the high altar of the cathedral, 
radiant with lights, gold and jewels, before which so 
many pilgrims and palmers must have knelt. * Behind 


26 


The Honeymoon. 

the altar is the chapel, in former days consecrated to 
the Holy Virgin, and that has retained, to this day, 
the name of Lady Chapel. In this is situated the 
little staircase conducting to a subterranean church ; 
that used to be the old baronial crypt, and that after 
the reformation was called the Laigh Kirk; this melan¬ 
choly and obscure colonnade was the scene of Hob 
%/ 

Roy’s mysterious warning to Francis Osbaldistone. Sir 
Walter Scott described it thus :—“Conceive an exten¬ 
sive range of low-browed, dark, and twilight vaults, 
such as are used for sepulchres in other countries, and 
had long been dedicated to the same purpose in this ; 
a portion of which was furnished with pews, and 
used as a church. The part of the vaults thus 
occupied, though capable of containing a congregation 
of many hundreds, bore a small proportion to the 
darker and more extensive caverns which yawned 
around what may be termed the inhabited space. 
In those waste regions of oblivion, dusky banners and 
tattered escutcheons indicated the graves of those wdio 
were once, doubtless, ‘ Princes of Israel.’ Inscriptions 
which could only be read by the pains-taking anti¬ 
quary, in language as obsolete as the act of devotional 

\ 

charity which they implored, invited the passers-by to 
pray for the souls of those whose bodies rested 
beneath.” 

This crypt is to-day deserted ; its aspect is perhaps 
therefore even more grim and mysterious than at the 
time of Sir Walter Scott’s description. It is impossible 
to go through it without experiencing an inexpressible 


27 


Glasgow. 

feeling of sadness and horror creep over one ; there is 
an atmosphere of death in those funeral regions, where 
everything seems to remind us of the grave, and 
where every stone bears upon its face the mark of the 
remains of a being that cannot but remind us of the 
end of our short earthly career. 

We went the round of those arches in as short a 
time as we could, and climbing up the worn-out steps, 
we found ourselves again in the inner church. 

The Gothic churches exercise a power over the 
imagination that the Greek and Graeco-Roman temples 
in vain have tried to equal. It is but too true that 
the Popes have employed, in building modern churches, 
the riches that the devotion inspired by the Gothic 
churches had given them. I observed this to Concha, 
and I added, “ You must allow that the Gothic style of 
architecture is the true Christian style, and that, after 
all, the Roman and modern churches always put one 
in mind of the pagan temples.” 

Conchita, seating herself upon one of the benches 
of the choir, while I took my place by her side, said, 
“ There is nothing so beautiful and that so much 
attracts our soul, and leads it towards prayer, as those 
old abbeys in which all is mystic and holy, lighted by 
the innumerable torches that burn constantly before 
the holy images that we worship, and that represent 
our earthly lives gradually burning in a flame of love 
and prayer that rises towards God in heaven. And 
those painted glass windows of our forefathers, through 
which the sun shone upon them, as the light of God 


28 


The Honeymoon. 


shone upon their minds through the teachings of the 
saints and martyrs painted upon them. Oh, such a 
church would be a fitting home for God, not such a 
Gothic anachronism as this. Here are the niches, but 
where are the saints? Who has substituted for the 
high altar, splendidly laden with shrines and reli¬ 
quaries, this plain wood table, on which no longer is 
placed the real body of our Lord ? This is indeed a 
Gothic church, but one that has long since been aban¬ 
doned by the Deity and by His worshippers, and in 
which only the shadows of the past are visible.” 

“ It is true, Conchita mia, this church seems more 
adapted to the dead that lie beneath its vaults, than 
for the living, who stare in mute astonishment at the 
relics of a faith that is not their own. One sees 
clearly that it was not built for the worship of her 
present attendants. Even now there is a service per¬ 
formed in it every Sunday, but it has no relation to 
the splendid ceremonies once performed beneath those 
arches, and for which it had been destined by its 
founders. The church is the same, but the religion 
has changed. Thus everything belonging to our spirit 
changes. All that is immortal must suffer -certain 
changes, without which its progress would be impos¬ 
sible, for only what is purely material, only what time 
destroys and man can pull down, remains till the end 
in its primitive state. How different is the man of 
the nineteenth century compared with that man who 
built this church as a place in which to worship his God! 

Each race has its civilisation and its religion, that 


29 


Glasgow. 

when it passes away, leaves traces of its existence 
upon the planet, for nothing is ever lost in the admir¬ 
able economy of time. 

Observe the Pyramids that were built thousands of 
years ago in order to commemorate the lives of men 
whose religion is totally ignored by us to-day, and 
yet there we have their temples and their altars just 
as they left them. 

Each race leaves behind it the foot-prints of its 
civilisation, and by those we are able to arrive at the 
state of their progress. They are the only proofs that 
time has consented to leave us in its destructive and 
yet creative march through the centuries. 

In a few centuries more perhaps—who knows?— 
another generation, more advanced and more enlight¬ 
ened, may contemplate these Christian churches, when 
even the nature of the divine Master that taught men 
the religion that inspired them to build them, may be 
very differently understood. For—- 

“ God is God from tlie creation; 

Truth alone is man’s salvation. 

But the God that now we worship, 

Soon shall be our God no more; 

For the soul in its unfolding, 

Evermore its thought re-moulding, 

Learns more truly in its progress 

How to love and to adore.” 

• •••••*• 

“ Thus you see that the truth of the present is but the truth of the 
past, 

But each phase is greater, and grander, and mightier than the 
last; 

That the past is ever prophetic of that which is yet to be, 

And that God reveals His glory by slow and distinct degree.” 




30 


The Honeymoon. 


Conchita sighed, and a tear fell upon my hand. 
“ I am sorry, dear Walter/’ she said, “ that you should 
speak so lightly of the sublime religion to which it is 
our happiness to belong. Jesus established His doc¬ 
trine for all eternity, and St Peter built His church, 
that will last as long as the world. If the pagan 
religions of antiquity have disappeared, and have been 
forgotten, it is because they were idolatrous, because 
they were false. But Christianity has been estab¬ 
lished by God himself, and therefore it must be an 
eternal religion.” 

“I do not want to argue with you, amor mio, if 
the ancient religions that you call idolatrous, were 
false or not, although I doubt very much that God in 
his justice would have allowed false doctrines to be 
preached and thought among his children, and, above 
all, that they should attain such a degree of success 
that Christianity itself has not yet, in nineteen 
centuries, been able to reach, for, without exaggera¬ 
tion, it is necessary that you should know that the 
Budhists, whom you, of course, believe to be all 
infidels, condemned to hell, number even to-day in 
their decline nearly four hundred millions—a cypher 
which the disciples of Christ are very far from reach¬ 
ing—and that the Brahmists, who profess, perhaps, 
the oldest existing religion in the world, count 
amongst their followers more than all the Catholics 
who acknowledge the Pope as sovereign pontifice put 
together ; but one thing I swear to you, and that is, 
that if I could believe God to be capable of allowing 




Glasgow. 3 r 

false doctrines to have such a success, and of sending 

7 O 

all men who do not chance to hear of Christianity to 
hell, I would doubt of his justice, and even of his 
wisdom.” 

“ Do you then believe, Walter, that the Budhists 
are right in believing in Brahm and Budha, and in 
denying Christ?” 

“No, certainly not,” T said, “but they do what 
they have been taught to do, the same as you believe 
in what the nuns have told you ; they act according 
to their conscience, and, therefore, according to God’s 
laws. If they worship Brahm it is because they 
know no better, or rather because they are not 
sufficiently advanced to be able to comprehend a 
more philosophical doctrine—they believe in Budha 
because their parents and masters believed before 
them in him, but, in spite of this, I am sure they 
will not be condemned for following the faith of their 
forefathers. Christians are very easily led to con¬ 
demn the Indians and Hindoos, because they do not 
give up their faith at once, and adopt theirs, but 
they are very long before they can be got to 
change the least important of their ideas. Every man 
must act so as to please himself, according to his best 
knowledge, and if his conduct and belief are such as 
please his better nature, you may be sure that they 
are acceptable to his Creator in heaven; it is not 
mail’s fault that God did not make him an angel, and 
did not place him in heaven.” 

“ God is just,” she said, “but cannot allow a false 


32 


The Honeymoon . 

religion to take the place of the only true one. Your 
ideas may be very philosophical, but they are not 
Catholic. What would the nuns at Seville say if 
they could hear you ? Surely they would think I 
had married Lucifer himself. Walter! Walter!” 
exclaimed the beautiful girl, her eyes full of tears, 
“ if I did not love you so much I think I should 
hate you! ” 

I took her burning hand in mine, and said gently 
to her while I took her out of the church,—“ Come, 
queridita Concha, those ideas that the nuns have 
given you are quite opposed to my philosophical 
and liberal spirit, but I will respect them as thine 
own. I do not want to contradict you to-day; only 
yesterday we were married, and what no man must 
put asunder, I am afraid discussion and differences 
of opinion will, if I do not take care. Come, let 
us go out of this church—the fresh air will do you 
good.” 

“ Oh Walter, is it possible that you want to deny 
the church that has made us man and wife ? Do 
you want to deny the power of that divine religion 
that has given me the power of being able to call you 
mine ( 

There was so much innocence, so much love, and 
so much sadness in those words pronounced by the 
mouth of one so much loved, that I could not but 
admire the purity of her faith, although I could not 
think with her. 

I had faith, too, but I wanted belief. 


Glasgow. 3 3 

We had just emerged from the cathedral, and the 
fresh air of the evening soon dissipated the black 
cloud that had veiled our happiness for a moment. 
We crossed the Bridge of Sighs and we entered the 
Necropolis. We walked through this city of the 
dead, arm in arm, but in utter silence. Our minds 
were too full of thought to speak, the recent conver¬ 
sation that Conchita had sustained with such force 
and resolution seemed to hang over us still, and when 
at last we arrived at the highest part of this hill, 
she let herself fall exhausted upon the pedestal of 
John Knox’s monument. I could not but shudder at 
seeing the Catholic girl at the feet of the most zealous 
of the enemies of Rome. 


* 


I. 


c 


CHAPTER III. 


RELIGIOUS SCRUPLES. 

This conversation, the first I had had with my youth¬ 
ful bride on religious subjects, made me extremely 
unhappy, for by it I saw clearly that Conchita’s mind, 
so sweet and yielding in all other respects, refused, 
with the greatest determination, to accept the ideas 
which I had at that time, concerning this the most 
important of all earthly subjects. 

This filled me with sorrow, as I have just said, for 
the reason that I also was inflexible in those days, 
having lately thought so much and so earnestly on 
the subject, that it seemed at last to form part of my 
very being. 

Although the son of a Catholic family, bigoted and 
intolerant as they are only to be found in Protestant 
countries, where persecutions and continual religious 
discussions seem to impose upon them the duty of 
upholding the doctrines peculiar to their religion in 
the firmest and most inflexible spirit, my mind would 
not give its assent to believe in some of the mysterious 
and supernatural teachings of the Church of Rome as 
they were then explained to me. 

In my earliest youth, all the care and affectionate 


35 


Religious Scruples. 

zeal of my parents to teach me their belief had only 
found in me an indifference that pained them more 
than I could then imagine. Like most children, 
during the first years of my life I occupied myself 
very little about religion; and I listened to the ser¬ 
mons of my elders and of the priests without lending 
much attention to them. At the age of twelve I was 
sent to a Catholic college in the north of England ; 
and, before I left it, I began to use my reason in 
judging of the religion in which all who surrounded 
me seemed to have such blind faith. 

We went to mass every morning before breakfast ; 
and every afternoon we were present at vespers and 
benediction. Moreover, a day was not allowed to pass 
without a sermon or oration, the subject of which was 
but too often that of condemning the Protestant doc¬ 
trines that, in spite of them, formed the religion of 
our mother-country, and impressing upon the students’ 
hearts the truth of God’s one only faith as taught in 
the Catholic Church. 

This persistence could not but attract my attention; 
and I began to think that if the Catholic religion was 
the only true one, as they said, what was the use of 
preaching so much against the other faiths, and ridi¬ 
culing their sectarians? 

O 

This idea soon took possession of my mind, and, as 
I was extremely impressionable, it soon took deep 
root in my heart. All my thoughts were directed 
from that moment to the search for proofs of the 
religion of my ancestors, only one scruple deterred 


36 


The Honeymoon. 

me, and that was the thought, whether I was quite 
justified in my desires to penetrate the mysteries that 
my forefathers, and my teachers, had so religiously 
respected and believed. 

But, unfortunately, the peculiar bent of my mind, 
and my anxiety to discover the truth, made me but 
too soon overcome this difficulty, and I did not spare 
any pains to arrive at my object. 

With this purpose, I began to read all the books 
that came in my way upon religious questions. I 
took particular interest in the history of the English 
Reformation, and in the causes that originated it. 
As I read, my mind naturally became more and more 
enlightened ; and the more I read about this, the more 
I sympathised with the cause of the Reformers. 

Soon I came to the conclusion that the Protestants 
were not wholly wrong after all, although I could not 
quite agree with their doctrines. But in spite of this 
objection, I thought them decidedly more liberal, and 
above all, more reasonable than their persecutors. 
This very persecution and constant opposition to their 
new ideas served to increase my growing aversion to 
the creed of the Papists. 

If the Bible be really the word of God, I said 
to myself, why should it not be read and studied by 
all ? How dare man forbid the words of the Deity 
from sounding all over the world ? And at that time 
not all the Catholic theology could have answered 
this to my satisfaction. 

I had at my command the whole of the college 


37 


Religious Scruples. 

library, and one day I determined to read tlie Bible 
for myself in plain English, and to see with my own 
eyes the truth of the word that had been the cause 
of so many disputes and so much bloodshed. But in 
so doing I not only received a satisfactory reason why 
this book should not be generally read, but also a 
great disappointment. The old Testament seemed to 
me to be cruel, barbarous, and even irrational and 
inhuman in its teachings. The New certainly seemed 
to me to be better adapted to our present state of 
civilisation, but, I had read just before Newton’s great 
work and La Mecanique Celeste of La Place, and how 
childish and simple the Mosaic account of the creation 
seemed to me after those sublime truths ! And yet 
they say it is the word of God ,—can this be true ? 
Can God do such mighty works, I said to myself, aud 
speak of them in such a manner ? It never occurred 
to me then, that at the time when this revelation was 
given, the human race was but comparatively young 
upon the earth, and that the truth, the grand mighty 
truth, would have been lost upon them, for as St 
Paul remarks, “ ’Tis a folly to give strong meat unto 
babes.” But in those days I did not think of all 
this. 

My mind was in this unsettled state when I was 
taken away from the school and sent to the Univer¬ 
sity of Oxford. 

There I remained for two years, during which I 
ended by being convinced of the many discrepancies 
in the doctrines of the Church of Borne. 



3 « 


The Honeymoon . 

Not so much in the principal doctrines upon which 
our faith is based, as in those lesser dogmas that the 
Church insists in teaching with the articles of the 
creed. 

I believed and acknowledged the truth of the 
doctrine of the one God, almighty, eternal, perfect, 
creator of all things. I believed, likewise, in the 
duty of loving this God above all things, and of obey¬ 
ing His laws ; also in the necessity of loving our 
neighbour as ourselves ; and I believed in the punish¬ 
ments and rewards of a future state. But I could 
not bring myself to believe in a God who sends His 
children to hell and for ever. I believed in the im¬ 
mortality of the soul, and therefore in a future state 
of existence, dependant upon the use we make of 
this, but necessarily of a more spiritual and fully 
developed condition. 

“ They tell us,” I said to myself, “ that we should 
love our enemies and forgive them until seventy times 
seven. Ought we not, therefore, to suppose that God 

4 

loves His enemies ? And yet the fathers of the 
Church tell us plainly that if we do not love God, we 
shall go to hell for ever, for God either cannot, or will 
not, save those that do not love Him. But even if 
He were to forgive them, and repay their hatred with 
a love that would be really divine, would He punish 
them more than would be for their good ? And can 
an eternal punishment be good for anyone % 

“ This we see plainly cannot be the case. An 
eternal punishment would be a useless punishment, 


39 


R clig ictus Scrup les. 

because tlie penitence that it would excite could not be 
carried out, and because the poor penitent could not 
come again upon the earth to correct the faults of his 
past existence. An eternal punishment would there¬ 
fore be an utterly useless chastisement, and God 
could not establish anything useless. This doctrine 
may be a dogma of any church which -teaches also 
that we shall have to suffer for an eternity if we do 
not believe in it; but can this Church, that professes 
to be the Church of truth, teach this, and at the 
same time insist in the doctrine of the supreme justice 
and mercy of God ? ” 

I accepted the latter, and would not therefore 
believe in the truth of the former. I believed God 
to be infinitely better than the best of men, and I 
knew well that when man punishes, it is with the 
view of reforming the offender and teaching him a 
better course, whereas the punishment inflicted by the 
God of the churches, having for its end not the 
benefit, not the reformation, but the unceasing and 
eternal punishment of the sinner, can proceed only 
from the bitterest feelings of revenge, worthy only . 
of the most malignant fiend, and therefore not of my 
God. 

If God only loves those that are good, I said to 
myself, that is to say, those who love Him and do 
His will, he is in no way better than man. For we 
also love those that are good to us and believe in our 
word. But if we believe God to be perfect, we must 
also believe that He loves all His sons alike, good and 


40 


The Honeymoon. 


bad. Theologians tell us that we do wrong when we 
return evil for evil. Is it possible that God is right 
when He sends those He does not like to perdition 
and damnation ? God, according to them, must be 
worse than the most wicked of men, for no man who 
had not the heart of a tiger could punish a son of his 
for ever; a human heart would burst before that, 
and yet God, who is divine, must do it if hell exists. 

I have heard some priests say that God in his 
supreme knowledge knows the destiny of each of his 
sons, that is to say, that when he creates them, he 
destines them for heaven or for hell, as it strikes 
his fancy, or at least, in most cases, to suffer a long 
and painful ordeal in purgatory, before they have 
committed even the smallest fault. They also have 
told me, and this I believe is an article of our faith, 
that the children who die before they have been 
baptised, go to limbo, as if it were their fault to die so 
young, and God must have known, when he made 
them, that they would die without receiving the con¬ 
secrated water. Now as by far the greater number of 
men die without being baptised, it follows that limbo 
must be a much larger place than heaven, purgatory, 
and hell put together. 

Some even tell us that the wicked are not sons of 
God but of the devil ; but if such be the case, why do 
they tell them to pray, saying, ‘ Our Father, forgive 
us our sins’ But, is not God the father of all ? Has 
He not made us ? and if we be all His children, is it 
possible that He can hate us even though we prove to 


4 T 


Religious Scruples. 

be wicked ? If God bate the sinner, would the 
sinner be wrong in hating God ? Surely not. God 
cannot expect us to be better towards Him than He is 
toward us. 

If we had enough power, should we not save the 
whole human race ? No good man can be wicked 
enough to wish His enemies to suffer for ever ; His 
wrath would be forgotten in time, and He would then 
forgive. This would be according to the laws of the 
human heart, planted therein by the Divine power. 
Can that Divine power contradict itself? 

And yet, we can only judge the Deity according 
to our human ideas of right and wrong, we can only 
arrive at a precise knowledge of God’s nature by 
studying His works, and by a knowledge of the laws 
that govern the universe. According, therefore, to 
man’s standard of goodness and justice, God should 
punish the sins of His children to their full extent but 
no more ; so as man cannot commit an eternal sin, 
an eternal punishment would be unjust and out of 
place ; the sin of a moment, however inexcusable, can¬ 
not merit an eternal punishment. And eyen suppos¬ 
ing the man to sin during his whole life, what is even 
that compared to eternity ? An instant is as long a 
space of eternity as fifty years, or even a hundred, for 
in eternity there is no time. 

Supposing, therefore, that God, after a certain ade¬ 
quate chastisement, pardon the sinner, forgive him, 
and that one day at last we shall all meet together in 
heaven; if such is the case, what was the use of being 


42 


The Honeymoon. 


saved by Jesus of Nazareth, as taught in the creeds 
of Catholic and Protestant churches? If God the 
Father saves everybody, what was the nse of God 
the Son’s corning to the world and suffering for our 
sakes ? 

This is, nevertheless, the fundamental doctrine 
upon which Christianity is based, unjust and inhuman 
as it may seem, for if God be indeed better than man 
(and being his maker, He ought to be superior to him 
in everything) He should not punish him more than 
it would be good for him, and at least He should make 
all, as they have a right to be, happy for evermore, 
and this of His own accord, for a father should not 
wait for somebody else to come and buy the freedom 
of his sons, he ought to give it to them of his own 
free will. 

The church even tells us that there is only salva¬ 
tion through Jesus, as the author of the Acts of the 
Apostles says, ‘ there is only salvation in Him’ (iv. 
12), and Christ himself said, according to St John, 
(xiv. C), ‘ No man cometh to the Father excepting 
through me! This is a dogma of the church, and I 
suppose I am wrong in discussing it, but its truth, 
and at all events its justice, seem to me to be doubt¬ 
ful. If those words were ever said, is it not more 
probable that they have been badly understood ? 
Christ could not mean such an unjust law to be one of 
the great and admirable laws established by the 
universal Father. 

Thus ran my thoughts, I tried to defend the 


43 


Religious Scruples . 

doctrines of my church, to prove them by reasoning 
and investigation, by comparing them with the laws 
that we know to be true, and by the cases that I had 
before my eyes, but instead of proving their truth, I 
invariably arrived at the conclusion that they were all 
wrong and unworthy of God. It was impossible ; I 
could form, to myself, too perfect and sublime an idea 
of the nature of the Deity, and the fact is that the 
more I studied His works, the greater He appeared to 
me, and that the more I read His word, the more it 
seemed to contradict His greatness. 

Sometimes my thoughts ran in another direction, 
and I used to say to myself, We are told that we 
should be thankful for our existence, and that this 
obligation is general and extends to all men. And 
yet, was not God very unjust when He made some of 
us rich and powerful, and others poor, a few wise and 
happy, and the greater part ignorant and miserable. 
Life cannot be a blessing for those who are not 
happy, and as the greater part are far from being so, 
life seems to me to be anything but a thing one should 
be thankful for. It may be true that we must all go 
through the mill , but some seem to me to go through 
it with perfect ease and without the least trouble, 
while by far the greater part pass their whole lives 
hoping for something which they never get; for them, 
life cannot be said to be a blessing. 

This the Church tries to make us forget, by telling 
us that this is not the true life, and that all we 
wish for here, we shall get on the other side of the 


44 


The Honeymoon . 


grave, if we obey her commands and follow her rules. 
But she does not explain the why, nor the wherefore. 
And if we do not obey her precepts, if we happen 
never to have heard of them, then we go to hell, to 
suffer for ever for the hardships of this life, and for 
our ignorance or disobedience of one of the articles of 
the Church. Under those circumstances it seems to 
me that it is almost impossible to be thankful to God 
for such an existence, that depends so little upon His 
mercy, or even upon His justice. 

Not that I disbelieve in a future life. I do 
believe most assuredly in one, but I cannot bring 
myself to think that this can be one of eternal suffer¬ 
ing and of everlasting sorrow, even for the worst of 
sinners. 

This life is so short, so very short, so imperfect, 
the world is so frivolous and full of temptations, and 
we are so weak and so ignorant of our own good, that 
it cannot be our fault if we sin. The only sin can be 
ignorance—ignorance of our future state, and of the 
things most conducive to make that future a happy 
and a holy one. What blasphemy it would seem 
against the justice of any being to charge him with 
entertaining infinite wrath against creatures to whom 
he has given existence, because they are ignorant, he not 
having given them the knowledge, or the impulse, or 
disposition, or power to acquire the knowledge of the 
best way in which they can use the things provided 
for them. Yet this is what they tell me to believe 
in with respect to God. It seems to me that if we 



Religious Scruples . 45 

sin, it is God alone who is to blame, according to this 
doctrine. 

These thoughts may seem irreligious, and yet they 
were dictated to me at the time by my great faith in 
the love, justice, and mercy of God, and by my great 
and intense desire to investigate the truth of my 
faith. To this it may be objected, it is true, that 
God can make men as He likes, and that He can give 
them good or bad qualities as He chooses. This may 
be true, but the God that made the human heart 
would seem to me to be lowering Himself by putting 
such different and contradictory sentiments in His 
different children, and if this were true, ought we, 
the poor tools of his power and caprice, to suffer for 
this unjust proceeding? It seems to me that there 
must be a law, of which we are still ignorant, by 
which the immense difference that undoubtedly exists 
between the mental capacity of one man and another, 
and the position in which each of them is placed, is 
explained, and by which the justice of the Creator in 
so making and placing them is vindicated and estafr^ 
lished without even the shadow of a doubt. 

But as I have before remarked, men will rather 
make the Creator appear unjust and unwise than 
declare themselves ignorant of the laws which they 
are not even yet sufficiently advanced to be able to 
comprehend. 

In this I have a firm conviction; otherwise, if 
this life and the prospects of our future existence and 
welfare were such as the Church tells us, God would 


46 The Honeymoon. 

be either unjust, unmerciful, unkind, unwise, or 
powerless. 

Once it passed through my mind that the secret 
of all was, that God had not the power that we gene¬ 
rally ascribe to Him, and that after making man as 
good as He could, He found Himself baffled, as it were, 
by His own creation, that He would gladly save the 
whole race if He could, but that it was out of His 
power to do so, and that this salvation must depend 
upon the man himself. 

Once I entertained this idea, once only, and then 
but for a moment, for the next I looked at the radiant 
face of the sun, and I was obliged to acknowledge 
that the Being who had made that orbit of light and 
of life must at the same time be all-powerful and all- 
merciful. 

Some one suggested to me that God having made 
man free, could not control his free-will, and could 
not be responsible for his conduct. 

To this I answered, “ You forget that man, being 
placed under certain conditions, is obliged to accom¬ 
modate his conduct to those conditions. When 
man first comes into the world he is but a weak, 
ignorant, and innocent child, he can therefore only 
know what is taught him by his parents and masters, 
and if they are wicked, and teach him their ways, 
how can he help doing like them \ The first impres¬ 
sions are never lost or forgotten, and bad example is 
the worst of temptations. If He had placed all men 
under the same disadvantages, and given them all the 


47 


Religious Scruples. 

same temptations, I should be able to understand His 
intentions, however unjust those may seem, but as 
some have more temptations than others, it is not 
extraordinary that some sin more than others. This 
confirms my belief in the existence of a law that can 
account for those differences of position and of charac¬ 
ter. But according to you, God requires of them all 
an obedience which, by your deification of Christ, you 
admit could not be rendered by mere man, how T ever 
perfect, however free from temptation. He condemns 
them therefore to unspeakable tortures and torments 
for ever more. That is, having made them finite and 
imperfect, He condemns them for not being perfect 
and infinite like Himself, and would only be pro¬ 
pitiated in their favour by the blood and agony of 
the only innocent one, the only one who had never 
offended Him in His life, His Son. So that, after all, 
men have nothing to do with their own salvation. 
They must, in order to be saved, independently of 
being good, receive the holy waters of baptism to save 
them from Adam’s never forgotten sin, and believe in 
Christ, besides going to confession once a month, and 
paying no end of mone}^ to the Church. All this and 
a great deal more is required in order to be perfect, and 
I must say in truth, it has nothing to do with what 
we in the world would consider good and praise¬ 
worthy. A savage may be good, but he can never 
enter heaven, because he has never been baptized, and 
has never even heard of Christ. However good we 
may be, however constantly we may resist temptation, 


4 8 


The Honeymoon. 

we cannot be saved unless we receive absolution for 
our few sins from some priest of Rome. But as by 
far the greater part of men die without receiving 
absolution from Rome, God cannot pardon them, and 
they must all go to hell. This seems to me blas¬ 
phemous, this is what I protest against. This unjust 
doctrine that takes away from men all the power they 
have to gain their own salvation. And yet it is the 
fundamental dogma of my own church, the church of 
my fathers.” 

Another of the doctrines that so much displeased 
me, and that I found in all the books of the church, 
was that of the personality of the Devil, the Spirit of 
Evil, Satan, from whom the church derives so much 
utility, frightening men with him in order to make 
them obey her commands. 

I could not but ask myself, “Does such a being 
really exist ? 

If he exists, who made him ? God, for He is the 
only creator we know of. But is it probable that God 
would make a being with as great a power as Himself ? 
—(for the power that is generally attributed to the 
devil is almost unlimited; it seems he can tempt men 
even against the wish of God). But if the devil has 
so great a power over humanity, why do they tell us 
that God is All-mighty ? 

How could God, who is so good, create a being so 
wicked ? 

God could not, therefore, have made the devil, for 



Religious Scruples. 49 

where would then be his justice, his wisdom, and his 
knowledge ? 

O 

And yet if God did not make the devil he must 
have made himself. How could this be ? I am at a 
loss to say, but at all events God cannot be the only 
creator if such is the case. 

There is a .tradition that tells us that the devil 
was in the beginning an angel, Luzbel, if I remem¬ 
ber right, whose overweening pride induced him to 
endeavour to make himself a God, but who only suc¬ 
ceeded in making himself a devil; but if this fable 
was not a mere invention, and did in reality take 
place, God must have allowed him to become such, for 
otherwise it would seem as if something could take 
place against Gods will, and we are told he is 
omnipotent. Moreover, as a sin presupposes a temp¬ 
tation, whatever this may be, what or who tempted 
this holy angel, so that he sinned ? In this case 
it is impossible to attribute the cause to the devil, so 
we are led to suppose that even in heaven there are 
temptations, that sin and strife can enter even there, 
where love and peace are supposed to reign, and that 
even the angels of the Lord are not perfect. 

If an angel sinned, I said to myself, without there 
being a devil to tempt him, can we not also sin with¬ 
out a devil being in the case? The existence of 
such a being is, therefore, not necessarily to be inferred 
from the evil there is upon earth, for evil must 
have existed in heaven even before an angel became 
‘ a devil.’ 

1. 


D 


50 


The Honeymoon. 


The Bible tells us that in heaven all are holy— 


4 only those that are perfect can see the kingdom of 
God/ but this cannot be true if an angel could be 


there who was so wicked as to prove the devil 
himself. 

Even admitting the devil to be a rebellious angel 
that fell, he was not less ah angel for all that, and he 
sinned, so that Adam’s sin loses its originality.” 

That sin committed, God knows when, by our great 
forefather Adam, has alwavs struck me as a dogma of 
the most extraordinary nature. It seemed to me so 
cruel and so unlike God’s wisdom and justice to 
make the whole race suffer for the sin of one man, 
of whom, moreover, nobody knows when or where he 
lived, since the discoveries of science have proved 
man to have been on the earth for long ages previous 
to the Mosaic calculations. 

Why should we suffer, I often thought, for the 
sins of another man % But the more deeply I went 
into this doctrine the more and more I doubted its 
truth. “ Would it be more improper and ridiculous 
to attribute my sins to Adam than his to me ? ” I 
exclaimed. “ If God loved Adam and was at the 
same time almighty, why did He allow the devil to 
tempt him ? If He could not prevent it, it must have 
been either because He did not love him or because He 
wanted the power to do so.” So, either one way or 
the other, it seemed to me to be a most transparent 
contradiction of God’s qualities. 

Adam sinned, but why did he sin ? r 



5 i 


Religious Scruples. 

because, in his weakness, he could not resist the 
temptations that surrounded him. So that it was 
not his fault if God had made him so imperfect and 
so weak that he fell at the very first temptation. 
God’s crowning work ! Man, was not, therefore, as 
good and perfect as He meant him to be, and when, 
after making man, “ He saw everything that He had 
made, and, behold, it was very good,” (Gen. i. 31.) 
He little expected that the very first thing that this man 
of His own making, made even after His own image 
(Gen. i. 26) would do, would be to sin against His laws. 
“ And it repented the Lord that He had made man on 
earth, and it grieved Him at His heart.” (Gen. vi. 6.) 
Yet God must have known this, and we must, on the 
other hand, remember that Adam did not know right 
from wrong, until after eating the forbidden fruit, so 
that the fault still lies with God himself. 

If Adam sinned without an hereditary sin, why 
should we suppose that our sins proceed from that 
original sin, as the church calls it. It seems to me 
too unjust of God to make us suffer for the sins of 
the progenitor of the race. Can it be possible that 
God loves us when He treats us in such a way ? But 
the Bible itself tells us plainly that God himself 
tempts His own children, for do we not say daily, 

‘ Lead us not into temptation,’ as Christ recom¬ 
mended us to pray? (Matt. vi. 13). And did not 
‘ the Lord say unto Satan, Hast thou considered my 
servant Job, that there is none like him on the 
earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth 


52 


The Honeymoon. 

God and escheweth evil. And still he holdeth fast 
his integrity, although thou movest me against him, 
to destroy him without cause.’ (Job ii. 3). And 
again, ‘ the Lord said, I will destroy man, whom I 
have created’ (Gen. vi. 7). And, moreover, did not 
the Lord tempt Abraham % for the Bible tells us that 
‘ it came to pass, after these things, that God did 
tempt Abraham ’ (Gen. xxii. 1). 

This is beyond doubt. The Word of God cannot 
be mistaken, although He once ‘ greatly deceived this 
people’ (Jer. iv. 10), and ‘sent them strong delusion, 
that they should believe a lie ’ (2 Thess. ii. 11). But 
what can we expect from a God of whom we read in 
His own infallible Word,. ‘ Now, therefore, behold, the 
Lord hath put a lying spirit in the mouth of all those 
thy prophets, and the Lord hath spoken evil concern¬ 
ing thee’ (1 Kings xxii. 23); ‘Then God sent an evil 
spirit’ (Judges ix. 23); ‘And if the prophet be de¬ 
ceived when he hath spoken a thing, I the Lord have 
deceived that prophet ’ (Ezek. xix 9) ; ‘ For I, the 
Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity 
of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and 
fourth generation ’ (Ex. xx. 5) ; ‘ Out of the mouth of 
the Most High proceedeth evil and good ’ (Lam. iii. 35); 
‘ Thus saith the Lord, Behold, I frame evil against 
you, and devise a device against you’ (Jer. xviii. 11); 
‘ I make peace and create evil: I, the Lord, do all 
these things ’ (Is. xlv. 7) ; ‘ Therefore I gave them 
also statutes that were not good, and judgments 
whereby they should not live’ (Ezek. xx. 25); ‘He 


53 


Religious Scruples. 

hath blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, 
that they should not see with their eyes, nor under¬ 
stand with their hearts’ (John xii. 40) ; ‘For it was 
of the Lord to harden their hearts, that they should 
come against Israel in battle, that He might destroy 
them utterly, and that they might have no favour ’ 
(Josh. xi. 20); ‘I will not pity, nor spare, nor have 
mercy, but destroy them’ (Jer. xiii-. 14); ‘And thou 
shalt consume all the people which the Lord thy God 
shall deliver thee : thine eye shall have no pity upon 
them’ (Deut. vii. 16); ‘Now go and smite Amalek, 
and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them 
not, but slay both man and woman, infant and suck¬ 
ling ’ (1 Sam. xv. 2, 3); ‘Because they had looked 
into the ark of the Lord, even He smote of the people 
fifty thousand and three score and ten men’ (l Sam. 
vi. 19); ‘The Lord cast down great stones from 
heaven upon them . . . and they died ’ (Josh. x. 
11) ; ‘The Lord God is a consuming fire ’ (Deut. iv. 
24); ‘And the Lord said unto Moses, Take all the 
heads of the people, and hang them up before the 
Lord against the sun, that the fierce anger of the 
Lord may be turned away from Israel ’ (Num. xxv. 4); 
‘ For ye have kindled a fire in mine anger which shall 
burn for ever’ (Jer. xvii. 4) ; ‘And the Lord met him, 
and sought to kill him ’ (Ex. iv. 24) ; ‘And He (God) 
said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou 
lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer 
him there for a burnt-offering’ (Jer. xxii. 2); ‘Thus 
saith the Lord God of Israel, Put every man his sword 


54 


The Honeymoon. 


by his side, and go in and out from gate to gate 
throughout the camp, and slay every man his brother, 
and every man his companion, and every man ,his 
neighbour’ (Ex. xxxii. 27); ‘But all the women 
children that have not known a man, keep alive for 
yourselves’ (Num. xxxi. 18) ; ‘ Lo, Jehu slew all that 
remained of the house of Ahab . . . And the Lord 
said unto Jehu, Because thou hast done w r ell in exe¬ 
cuting that which is right in mine eyes, and hast done 
unto the house of Ahab according to all that was in 
my heart, thy children of the fourth generation shall 
sit on the throne of Israel’ (2 Kings x. 11, 80).” 

Such are a few of the innumerable verses of the 
Bible in which the character of Jehovah, King and 
God of the Jews, is described. 1 have copied them 
without note or comment, so that they may carry 
their weight solely upon themselves. They seem to 
me to be enough proof against the justice, mercy, 
wisdom, and almighty power of the God of the Jews. 
And yet this is the God we are told to worship as the 
God of the Universe ! whom Christ would teach us to 
love and to address as Our Father, the universal 
Father and Giver of all good, who maketh His sun 
to shine on all alike ! They may tell us that Christ 
taught a very different doctrine when He came; but 
did He not also say, “ Think not that I am come to 
send peace on earth ; I came not to send peace, but a 
sword” (Matt. x. 34)? and in another place, “I am 
come to send fire on the earth ” (Luke xii. 49)? 
Moreover, Christ did not put an end to the ancient 


55 


Religious Scruples. 

law. “ I come not to destroy the law,” He said. 
Thus we see that the God of the churches is warlike 
(Ex. xv.. 3) ; changeable (Gen. vi. 6); powerless 
(Judges i. 19); unjust and partial (Ex. xx. 5); an 
author of evil (Lam. iii. 38) ; cruel (Jer. xiii. 14) ; 
ferocious (1 Sam. vi. 1 9) ; angry (Jer. xvii. 4) ; a liar 
(2 Tliess. ii. 1J)—in one word, a very Demon ! 

“ Is it possible,” I exclaimed, when I had finished 
reading the Word of God, in which I saw for the first 
time its true nature proved by His own acts and 
words, “ is it possible that the men of the nineteenth 
century can believe in such a Deity, and kneel every 
day and worship such a demon ? and all for fear of a 
devil and a hell that, I am sure, cannot be worse 
than God Himself and what His heaven must be. Is 
it possible,” I repeated to myself, “ that grown-up men 
can be so frightened with the idea of a bogie, as to 
'worship such a God as the one that the Bible presents 
to us ? ” 

And this at a time when so many new discoveries 
are every day bringing to our knowledge the wonders 
of the universe—just now, when the sublime laws of 
the Creator are being so clearly taught to us, and when 
our ideas of God ought to be greater and holier than 
ever. For the instruments discovered by Galileo and 
Leuwenhoeck have shown us more of the glorious 
works of God than all the Bibles, Eddas and Vedas 
of antiquity have ever done, and than all the theology 
of the churches will ever teach us. 

Yes ; to-day the telescope and the microscope open 



56 


The Honeymoon . 


to us a wider and a more extensive region of specula¬ 
tion, and carry our thoughts much more into the 
sphere of God than even Jesus of Nazareth was able 
to do on account of our ignorance, which was a conse¬ 
quence of the need of these aids to knowledge, as the 
time had not yet dawned for their invention ; and 
therefore it would have been premature had He then 
spoken of the marvels of the universe as we now 
behold them, or else why did He say : “ I have other 
things to tell you, but you cannot hear them now ? ” 

Such was the train of thought that carried me out 
of the Church of Rome. I sometimes asked myself 
if others had had the same scruples. Of this I was 
soon convinced. I found that several of my college 
companions had the same views, but they either did 
not care to speculate upon them, or they were afraid 
of the consequences, and therefore did not dare to go 
too far into the subject. 

I studied the works of those who with the best 
reasons had protested against the Church of Rome. 
Luther, Calvin, Voltaire, Rousseau, St Lambert, 
Comte, Tom Paine, Theodore Parker, Boulanger, 
Dupuis, Strauss, Renan, etc., and in those books I 
found an exact repetition of my doubts and scruples. 

Sometimes when I read those books that the world 
has talked so much against, I could not but say to 
myself, “ Can it be possible that I am going to 
abandon the religion of my parents ? ” This painful 
thought gave me the idea of going back, but it was 
too late ; the dogmas of the Church appeared to me 


57 


Religious Scruples. 

insufferable, and all their doctrines pernicious and 
unjust. Little by little I had walked out of the 
Church. I had forgotten the obedience that the 
Church of Rome imposes upon her children, and 
now my mind had expanded too much to be able to 
return again through the narrow door of the Church 
that appeared to me almost to shut out the light of 
heaven. If the priests had only known what was 
passing in my mind, surety they would have called 
me an apostate. “ This is a hard word, I thought, 
but was it not applied by the Jews to Jesus only a 
thousand years ago ? and in spite of them His apos- 
tacy has become a great religion ? But can this be 
called a heresy, as Rome most assuredly would call it, 
when I only seek to discover the way of establishing 
the direct communication with God that Catholicism 
does not establish by any means ? Can one displease 
God when one is searching for the best way of arriving 
nearer to Him ? Before I was a Catholic, and I was 
true to my faith ; but now I am also true to that 
faith, and yet I cannot call myself a Catholic accord¬ 
ing to the Church, and be one in outward appearance 
and yet dissent in my heart. I could cheat the world, 
but I could not cheat myself 

I wanted to be still considered a Catholic, but I 
knew the innumerable faults of Catholic dogmas, and 
I could not believe in them. I could not live con¬ 
stantly hiding from my heart the thoughts of my 
mind; I wanted to be still a Catholic because it was 
the religion of my fathers. And religion, I thought, 


53 


The Honeymoon. 

is not a bond between men, but one that is to bind 
the creature to its Creator. What has the world to 
do with this sacred tie ? Which would be more 
agreeable to God, an outer appearance of hereditary 
faith, at which I laugh in the bottom of my heart, or 
a true faith, based on firm belief and conviction, and 
that springs from the impartial study of the works of 
the Creator ? 

What matters what I seem to be ? What I am 
is what God will approve or condemn, and most 
assuredly He will not approve of my doubt and 
incertitude. And, after all, these words, “the religion 
of my fathers ,” can be applied to all faiths. This 
cannot be said as a proof of its truth. Surely our 
fathers may have lived quite easily believing in a 
mistaken faith, and even what may have been a truth 
to them must not, therefore, necessarily be a truth for 
us. In my grandfather’s time it was thought an 
impossibility for a steamer to cross the Atlantic ; it 
was even proved on scientific principles, and sustained 
by the wisest of men, and yet to-day they cross it in # 
every direction. Truths can only be relative and 
dependent upon the state of progression of the 
individual who receives them. This is one of the 
laws of progress. Why should not religious truths 
be also dependent upon the advancement of the 
individual mind that is to receive them ? The Jews 
converted by the apostles abandoned the religion of 
their fathers and were right. God himself, we are 
told, established the religion taught by Moses, and He 


59 


Religious Scritples. 

himself supplanted it after a time for that taught by 
Jesus, and yet both are said to be equally true, 
although they seem to contradict each other almost in 
every point. 

They tell me that I have had the immense happi¬ 
ness of being brought up in the Roman Catholic 
Apostolic Church ; it might be a great blessing, no 
doubt, according to their ideas ; but as all other com¬ 
munions would say the same to me if I belonged to 
their religion, it seems to me that I must choose for 
myself. That I have been brought up in the Catholic 
Church cannot be a proof of the truth of its 
doctrine. 

But which is the true religion ? Which of the 
Christian churches is the true one ? Every one of 
them pretends to be the religion that Jesus taught in 
Judea so many hundred years ago, and yet does 
any one of them all teach the pure, unostentatious 
truths as they were first preached by Him ? 

The Churches of Rome, London, Berlin, and St 
Petersburg, each call themselves the only Christian 
Church, although they teach doctrines so adorned 
that they are quite opposed to those of Christ. 

It seems to me that if He were to come again 
upon earth, the first thing he would do would be 
to preach against modern Christianity. 

For where did Jesus say that he was God ? 

If Christ had been God, would he have said, ‘ If I 
bear witness of myself, my witness is not true ? ’ (St 
John v. 3-1.) Was Christ the God Almighty when 


60 The Honeymoon. 

he said, ‘ I can, of mine own self, do nothing ? ’ (St 
John v. 30.) 

Was Jesus the God omniscient when he said, con¬ 
cerning the day of judgment, “ Of that day, and of 
that hour, knoweth no man, no, not the angels which 
are in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father ? ” 
(Mark xiii. 32.) 

Was Christ the God omnipresent when he said, 
“ I ascend unto my Father, and your Father, and to 
my God, and your God ? ” (John xx. 17.) Can any 
one ascend to himself, and can any one be his own 
god ? 

Was Jesus the God all-good, when he reproved 
the rich man for calling him good, saying, “ Why 
callest thou me good ? there is none good but one, 
that is God ? ” (Mark x. 18.) 

Was Christ equal with God when he said plainly, 
“ My Father is greater than IV’ (St John xiv. 28.) 

Where did Jesus say that we should worship him ? 

Where did Jesus say that the Holy Ghost was 
God himself? 

Where did Jesus say that we should worship the 
Virgin and the angels, and even the saints ? 

Where did Jesus say that we should worship 
images ? • 

Where did Christ say that the Jewish law was 
false ? 

How could Christ have believed that St Peter and 
his successors were saints and holy, when he said to him, 
“ Get thee behind me Satan ; thou art an offence unto 


Religious Scruples. 61 

me, for thou savourest not the things that be of God, 
but those that be of men?” (St Matthew xvi. 23.) 

How could St Peter have been infallible when he 
denied his master three times ? (St Luke xxii.) 

When did Christ teach the doctrine of the 
Trinity ? 

When did Jesus teach as the church does now the 
sanctity of particular days ? 

Where did Christ say that he only came to save 
those that were good ; did he not say rather that he 
came to save those that had need of him ? 

Can, therefore, the modern churches have any 
relation with Christ and his teachings, when they 
preach doctrines that are so opposed to those he 
taught when on earth ? 

Modern discoveries make us doubt of the truth of 
many statements contained in the Bible. Without 
some key to reconcile its contradictions, we find it 
impossible to believe in a book that tells us that the 
sun goes round the earth, and the chief doctrine of 
whose interpreters is, that three is equal to one, and 
one is equal to three. This is not the age for super¬ 
stitions and bad mathematics. The bishops of the 
different Christian sects know this, but they can only 
tell us that science and religion have nothing to do 
with each other, and that mathematics that contradict 
the Bible must necessarily be wrong. 

Yet a truth is a truth wherever we may find it. 
The church may make a Galileo recant his words, but 
it cannot contradict the fact that the earth goes 


62 The Honeymoon. 

round the sun, although the Bible may say that it 
does not. 

But, if the church cannot prove to us that science 
is wrong, why does it stand against its truth ? For 
whom should we believe—he who can prove his 
doctrines to our understanding, or he who can only 
declare them to be mysteries of faith ? 

If the doctrines of the church of Home be true, 
what is the use of making them into dogmas % Every¬ 
body believes that two and two make four, without 
its being necessary to add that his salvation depends 
upon his believing it. 

They tell us that we should not trust in men’s 
doctrines, but that we should obey only those that 
come from God, and then they preach that men should 
obey, in everything, the orders of the Pope. Is not 
this obeying a man ? It is true that the church has 
made the Pope infallible, but to believe this, we 
must not only forget the past history of the Popes, 
but forget also that he is a man, and that Christ 
never told us that St Peter was infallible, much less 
his successors. 

The church seems to me to take too much upon 
itself; it undoubtedly forgets that we are no longer in 
the fifteenth century, that men have lost all fear of 
the devil and his hell, as we can too clearly see, if we 
study the events that have taken place during the 
last two hundred years, in the very heart of Europe, 
where Home used to rule supreme, once upon a time. 
The truth is, man has outgrown, or is hist outgrowing 



Religious Scruples. 63 

this church, and yet Rome pretends still, in spite of 
everything, that she can pardon and absolve sins, and 
that her masses can release a soul from purgatory. 

If this be true, God cannot possibly be all-power¬ 
ful and unerring in His judgments, for He is made to 
change His plans, according to the decision of the 
Pope, and because any priest can send a soul straight 
into heaven, although He destined it for purgatory or 
even hell. According to this doctrine, the church and 
its priests have more power than God himself. 

It seems to me impossible that a handful of gold 
can change the destiny of any being. If the church 
really have the power she pretends to have over 
man’s future destin}-, she should save every one 
according to their deeds, and not according to their 
money. Perhaps I think wrongly about all these 
things, but I judge others by myself, and I, if I had 
enough power, I would make everyone happy for ever¬ 
more. I should certainly accept the money they 
would choose to give me, but I should not make this 
unjust payment, the condition upon which this salva¬ 
tion depended. 

And after all, if after getting over all these diffi¬ 
culties, if after disappointing one’s expectant heirs, and 
leaving no end of money to the Church to obtain one’s 
salvation, one at last gets into the heaven the Church 
takes such pains in describing to us; can one possibly 
be happy in such a place when one knows that so 
many of our fellow-creatures are suffering in hell 
for ever ? It may be, as St Augustin says, that the 


64 


The Honeymoon. 

chief pleasure of the angels is the contemplation of 
the endless pains and miseries of the damned that are 
suffering before them. But if they find that a plea¬ 
sure, those angels must certainly have hearts very 
different from ours. What can we think of the happi¬ 
ness to be found in a heaven where— 

‘ The godly wife conceives no grief, 

Nor can she shed a tear, 

For the sad fate of her mate, 

When she his doom doth hear. 

‘ He that was erst a husband pierc’d 
With sense of wife’s distress, 

Whose tender heart did bear a part 
Of all her grievances, 

Shall mourn no more, as heretofore, 

Because of her ill plight, 

Although he see her now to be 
A damn’d, forsaken wight.’ ” * 

Such were the thoughts that passed through my 
agitated mind, and such was the consequence of the 
half-clerical, half-university education I had received. 

Entertaining such doubts, I could not belong any 
more to the church of my fathers, and yet when I 
studied the doctrines of the Church of England, and 
when I criticised them with equal liberality, I must 
confess that they seemed to me to be exceedingly 
alike. The form was certainly another, but the basis 
of both was the same. Having found the one false, 
I could not but find the other equally so. 

In the University of Oxford I had found two men 

* “ The Day of Doom.” By the Rev. M. Wigglesworth of Mal¬ 
den, New England. 



65 


Religious Scruples. 

that, like myself, had protested against the Church of 
Rome, to which they both formerly belonged. This 
naturally brought us constantly together. 

The one was Dr John Gray, the well known and 
much appreciated master of natural philosophy. The 
other was a student of my own age, by name Francis 
Harrington. 

Those two men had been my most intimate friends ' 
during my two terms in the university, but I had 
quite lost sight of them since my father’s death, that 
forced me to abandon my studies, and called me to 
the side of my disconsolate mother. 

Both of them, strange to say, had arrived at the 
same conclusion, although by very different routes. 
When I told them of my doubts respecting the Church 
of Rome, and when I confided to them my scruples, 
they both assured me that they also felt the same 
doubts and scruples, and entertained ideas similar to 
my own. 

But, in spite of this similarity of ideas, there was 
something in their way of viewing religion, and in 
their respective reasons for protesting against Catho¬ 
licism that did not please me at all. 

The doctor, a man of the most profound knowledge 
and learning, thought that there was nothing in the 
world of so much importance as science, and seeing 
that the Christian religion was established upon the 
most unscientific basis, and that the Church denied 
several of the established laws of nature, and more¬ 
over, observing that her priests were for the most 
i. u 


66 


The Honeymoon. 


part men of but little learning, and who had more 
faith in their own dogmas than in scientific investiga¬ 
tions, abandoned the Church of Rome, and with that 
all other religions, thinking them all equalty igno¬ 
rant and untrue. He had become what the world 
would call an atheist. That is to say, that finding 
himself unable to discover a religion that would 
describe to him the Supreme Being, such as science 
acknowledges He must be, and such as he imagined 
He might be, he had abandoned all religion, and ended 
by denying the existence of any God whatever. He 
attributed the creation to certain causes and laws by 
means of which the ceaseless production of plants, 
animals, men, and all other living creatures was due 
to the fortuitous concourse of atoms. 

This doctrine could not fill my heart. If I pro¬ 
tested against the abuses and dogmas of Rome, it was 
solely because I did not find the idea that this reli¬ 
gion gives us of the Supreme Creator adequate to the 
magnitude and grandeur of the universe created. I 
doubted the truth of Catholicism because this religion 
contradicted the greatness, power, and justice that I 
imagined Him to possess, but not because of this was 
I going to doubt altogether the existence of a God. 

As for Francis Harrington, accustomed, since his 
fathers death, to live among Protestants, he had 
grown, by slow degrees, to think like them. He 
dedicated himself solely to the study of the Bible, that 
his guardian told him to be the word of God, and from 
this study he, of course, derived that the Church of 


Religious Scruples . 67 

Rome was all wrong as to her doctrine, and that the 
Christianity of the Catholics was very different from 
that taught by Jesus in Jerusalem; so he abandoned 
the old faith and turned Protestant, joining the 
reformed church of England, in which he soon became 
one of its ministers. 

His ideas, of course, did not agree with mine ; I did 
not doubt the truth of the Roman Church, because its 
doctrines were different from those established by the 
first Christians, but because its dogmas and rites 
were too narrow for my enquiring mind, and for my 
exalted idea of God. 

So although these two men had protested against 
the church as I did, their motives for so doing were so 
different from mine, that their solutions could not 
satisfy me. 

I was too much of a philosopher, and had too 
much heart to become an atheist, and had not enough 
faith in the infallibility of the Bible to join any of the 
reformed churches. So that I did not abandon com¬ 
pletely the old faith of my forefathers ; for not finding 
any religion that agreed better with my peculiar 
ideas, I thought it better to be still a Roman Catholic 
at least to my family, although my Christianit}^ was 
very unorthodox and very different from that preached 
in the churches. Thus was I situated when la Senora 
de Vargas, asked me if I belonged to the Church 
of England. I answered her, that my family were 
all Catholics, and that their religion was also my 
faith. 


63 


The Honeymoon . 

And this was but the truth ; to what other religion 
could I say I belonged ? 

Until that time, I had not found anybody with 
whom I could speculate upon the subject dearest to 
my heart# I always expected to marry a woman who 
participated in my ideas, or to whom I could, at least, 
confide my doubts, and the peculiar view T s upon which 
my moral existence was based j, but one day I saw 
Conclnta Vargas in the old convent in Catholic Spain, 
and I forgot all my intentions, all my scruples, and 
even the moral ideal of a woman for which I had so 
often sighed* Love made me sacrifice my religious 
ideas to his all-powerful passion. 

But now that I at last possessed the object so well 
loveeb now that I could call my wife the angel of 
beauty and purity, that had made me forget so much, 
I began to see plainly the reality of what I judged to 
be my folly, my unpardonable mistake* 

“ Great God ! I exclaimed, what is going to become 
of me, obliged to live by the side of a devout and 
narrow-minded girl, accustomed only to dress images 
in a convents Why have I manned such a woman ! 
Why, oh my God, have I sacrificed my most holy 
sentiments to a passion that I shall so soon forget ? ” 

I was so vexed with the language used by Conchita 
in the cathedral, that I gave up all hope, at once, of 
ever convincing her of the truth, and of making her 
change the doctrines that she held so much at heart, 
I accused myself of not having foreseen the con¬ 
sequences of marrying a girl out of a convent, who 


Religious Scruples . * 69 

only could entertain the narrow-minded ideas of the 
inhabitants of the cloisters. 

And now that my readers are aware of the origin 
of my religious views, they will see how insufferable 
must have appeared to me, the idea of living out my 
days with a being who professed doctrines that were 
so hateful at that moment to me. 

I was submerged in these vexatious and melancholy 
thoughts, when Paula, Conchita’s maid, came to 
announce that her mistress was waiting for me in her 
dressing room. 

I went into this room that leads from the drawing:- 
room, with my heart torn by those bitter thoughts ; 
but no sooner had I entered the apartment, than all 
my agonies of fear and all my serious scruples were set 
to flight as the torments of a nightmare are dissipated 
by the brilliant rays of the rising sun. 

I beheld before me my youthful bride, beautiful as 
I had never before seen her, and looking so radiantly 
happy, as to make my own heart beat with joy. 

Conchita was waiting for me to enter into our 
nuptial chamber; and I, forgetting everything that 
had passed through my mind for the last hour, threw 
myself at her feet, blinded again by love. 


CHAPTER IV. 


DUMBARTON. 

The following day was the 4th of July, and a bright 
sun illuminated our windows since the early morning. 

“ What a splendid day!” exclaimed Conchita, as she 
came into the breakfast room, where I had been read¬ 
ing the Times. “ It looks as if the sun itself came to 
bless and brighten our union.” Saying this, she opened 
the window that looked upon George Square, and went 
out upon the balcony, where I soon joined her, and 
where we remained for a few seconds, my arm around 
her, breathing the fresh air of the morning. All of 
a sudden, Conchita, gliding from my arms, exclaimed, 
blushing, “ Walter ! Walter ! what are you doing ? 
Don’t you see that everybody is looking at us from 
the Square ? Did you ever see such a thing ? To 
embrace me thus, before the solemn and serious 
Scotchmen ! They will assuredly take us for a couple 
of lovers.” 

“ They will only take us for what we are then, my 
own sweet love. Am I not your husband, and are 
you not my wife, my darling wife ? ” 

“Ah ! it is true,” murmured the beautiful girl, while 
her superb black eyes bent down full of tears, aud her 
golden locks floated round her face. 



Dumbarton. 


7 l 


“ Are you sorry for it ? ” I said, taking her hand in 
mine ; “ are you sorry because you can call me thine ? 
Sorry that now I am yours, that I live for you, feel 

for you ?-Oh ! embrace me, Conchita, embrace me, 

wife of my heart, for at this moment I am your 

mother, father, brother-your lover-yes ! 

your passionate lover. Come to my arms ! and 
what does it matter if even the whole world were to 
be witness to our love % Are we not one ?—one 
according to man’s laws, and one according to God’s 
laws ? Let them stare at us, I am sure that if they 
knew our love, and saw our hearts, their smiles w’ould 
change into jealous frowns, and their mockery into 
envious sighs.” 

Conchita took my arm, and, coming into the apart¬ 
ment, she threw herself on the sofa, when she said, 
after a moment’s hesitation, “ This is too much happi¬ 
ness ; I am too happy now; and I am afraid that this 
happiness will soon change into sorrow. It is so good 
to be loved by thee, that eternity would scarcely be 
long enough for me to enjoy our love : and yet you 
will forget this love so soon !—this passion that to¬ 
day fills our hearts ! It is so sweet to love and to be 
loved, that this melody of life should last an eternity 
without the heart being fatigued by this passion.” 

“And do you believe, Conchita, that my heart can 
ever tire of loving you ? No ; remember this is a law 
of the human heart, my pet, that love creates love ; 
it augments it; it developes it. The only change 
that it can undergo now is, that it will become calmer ; 







7 2 


The Honeymoon. 

but even if less vehement, it will be all the more sooth¬ 
ing and the sweeter. The secret of loving is, to occupy 
oneself constantly with the object loved—to live always 
together. To love, is to die to oneself: true love con- 
sists in living the one for the other. This passion, 
carried to its highest pitch, succeeds in making one 
being out of two. Such a love can last an eternity, 
an eternity of love, happiness, and felicity. For, 
without this, the union that was so agreeable at first 
becomes indifferent, perhaps hard and galling. Yes, 
Conchita ; mutual affection is the essence of matri¬ 
monial union ; and from the moment that this affec¬ 
tion ceases, marriage is but a vain word.” 

“And do you believe, then, that we shall always 
be as happy as we are at the present moment ? ” 

“ Of course,” I answered her. “A celebrated French 
author, Pierre Leroux, if I remember rightly, said, 
that ‘ heaven—the true heaven—was to be found in 
the conjugal life, such as that life used to be in the 
patriarchal times. Man cannot live for ever alone ; 
he wants a companion that can partake of his plea¬ 
sures, and can console him in his sorrows.’ Adam 
needed Eve to be completely happy, even in Paradise.” 

“ I am glad, Walter, that you should think so. 
When I was but a young girl in the convent, I used 
to say to myself, f This cannot be the true life that 
God meant us to live upon earth. These holy women 
around me seem happy; but I am sure that even they 
feel that something is wanting in their existence to 
make them completely so.’ I had not yet felt the 




Dumbarton. 


73 


love that to-day fills my fife, and causes my felicity, 
but I guessed at its effects ; for they are dreamt of 
even in the cloisters. 

“ The nuns painted to me the sins of the world, 
but at the same time they said to me, ‘ Concha, you 
will soon attain a marriageable age, and when you 
' least expect it, your mother will come to take you 
away from the convent. Once in the world you will 
find yourself alone and without real friends, for there 
all must be selfish, if they want to five according to 
the established customs. But remember that here in 
this sacred place all love you. Come to us then.’ I 
cried, and was unhappy when the thought of leaving 
the convent was suggested to me. The church and 
my cell had been till then all the world to me, and I 
repeatedly told the superior that I would never leave 
them, and that when I arrived at the proper age, I 
would take the veil, and would become one of them. 
They always smiled at this, and said that I ought to 
see the world before becoming a nun. ‘ The world is 
not wicked in itself, and there is a great deal that is 
good in it.’ Love, they also told me, is, like all the 
passions inspired and felt by men, one that can elevate 
a soul to the highest virtues, or sink it into the worst 
of crimes. In spite of this, like all that comes from 
heaven, it is a superior sentiment, destined eventually 
to elevate the creature to the Creator, as the Virgin’s 
love and tenderness sanctified her holy person in the 
eyes of God.’ * My daughter,’ added the lady abbess, 
‘ if you ever feel such a love, resist it if the person 


74 The Honeymoon. 

that inspires it cannot become your husband, and 
even if he asks your hand, do not grant it to him if 
you are not sure that he also loves you.’ I then 
made up my mind that I would love my husband 
with all my heart, with all my soul, or that I would 
never marry. ‘ If ever I find such a man,’ I said to 
myself, ‘ I would either die or become his wife. Yes, 
I will marry a man whose elevated soul will be able 
to help me and sustain me. I will help him, but he 
must also help me, and let me lean on him. He 
must have a loving and tender spirit, that will never 
get tired of loving me, one whom I shall also be able 
to respect and love.’ Such was my ideal of a hus¬ 
band, and I feared I should never be able to find such 
a being upon earth, therefore I wanted to become the 
bride of Christ. He I knew would love me as none 
upon earth, for He once died for me, and so I fixed 
all my hopes on Him. But to-day, that I am your 
wife, I am happy, because my dreams have been 
realised, and I love you even more than I thought I 
should love the ideal picture I had formed in my 
mind of my future husband. Now I am not afraid 
of loving you too much. Even if I were to be con¬ 
demned by it, I could not love you less.”\ 

I took her in my arms, and seated her on my 
knees. She looked at that moment more than ever 
the picture of the Immaculate Conception* “ I tell 
you that I appreciate you, that I admire you, that I 
adore you,” I said to her. “ Can I tell you anything 
more passionate still, and that comes nearer to the 


Dumbarton . 


75 


heart ? Have I in those words exhausted the lan¬ 
guage of the heart ? No) I have not even begun 
this rich language that only consists of a word, but 
of a word worth more than all the rest put together. 
I have one thing to say to you, only one, the last— 
I love you ! Ten thousand words can precede this 
one, but not one can succeed it in any language, and 
once pronounced, it only remains to repeat it for all 
eternity. 

“ I have told you, Conchita, that I love you ; what 
more can I say to you after this one word ? Every¬ 
thing passes, and is forgotten in this world, but this 
word remains always on our lips, and engraved on 
our hearts. Pronouncing it I have given you all my 
life, all my existence. Pains and pleasures pass 
as shadows and sunshine over our existence, they 
succeed each other constantly, they are the cliiaro- 
oscuro of our lives, and life goes after them—life 
passes away as they pass away. What is life ? A 
breath of existence, not even an instant of the eter¬ 
nity that is awaiting us. We are always between 
two eternities, the past and the future, both unknown 
to us. Earth life is but a succession of events that 
we shall soon forget, but if we love during our lives, 
if we ever experience that passion that is as a glimpse 
of the heaven above us, that is the beginning of a 
truer life. Then life becomes a succession of events 
for ever to be remembered. It is as a dream of happi¬ 
ness, a preface of the eternal happiness that we shall 
enjoy in the other world. Fill all your life, my dar- 



?6 


The Honey moon, 

ling, with this passion, remember that it is the only 
one that yon will be able to carry with you to heaven, 
for God is love, and all love is from Him. 

“ Eternal love is the life of God. The life of man 
is composed of finite loves, but a succession of infinite 
finites is the eternal love, the divine love. Love 
carried to its greatest height is heaven itself. The love 
that spirits have for God, as shown to His creatures, 
is the complement of life, is the eternal life of the 
being who thus loves. The love of God is supreme 
knowledge, supreme power, supreme felicity. Love, 
Conchita mia, love, and love for ever. 

“ ‘ God loves from whole to parts ; but human soul 
Must rise from individual to the whole. 

Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, 

As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 

The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, 

Another still, and still another spreads ; 

Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; 

His country next, and next the human race ; 

Wide and more wide, th’ o’erflowings of the mind 
Take every creature in, of every kind ; 

Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, 

And heaven beholds its image in his breast.’ ” 

John came soon afterwards to ask us our arrano-e- 

o 

ments for that day. 

“ Let us go out of the town,” exclaimed Conchita ; 
“ let us go away far from the habitations of men, and 
let us enjoy the beautiful sun of God, as it shines 
upon the green fields of the earth.” 

“ I have thought of a very pleasant excursion,” I 
said ; “ it is to go up in the steamer Iona to the 


Dumbarton . 


77 


Kyles of Bute, to-morrow, Saturday ; she sails from 
Glasgow ; we should, I think, take advantage of this 
circumstance to see those magnificent islands and 
lakes that are said to be the finest in Scotland.” 

My young bride was delighted with the idea. “ But 
in the mean time,” she observed, “could we not go out of 
Glasgow and spend this glorious day in the country % ” 

“ We can go by the railroad to Dumbarton, I 
suggested ; Dumbarton has a fine old castle on the 
banks of the Clyde, and from there we could go to 
Greenock, where we shall take the steamer to-morrow 
for the Kyles of Bute.” 

This plan was approved of by Conchita, and an 
hour afterwards, we were in the railroad on our way 
to Dumbarton, where shortly afterwards we arrived. 

One enters Dumbarton from the station by Church 
Street, a fine street, in which are situated the Town 
Hall and the Academy, a modern building of very 
good appearance. In the same street, a little lower, 
we passed the ruins of a very ancient archway. The 
street terminates before the church, where two others 
begin, called High Street and Castle Street, in which 
are the great manufactories of Mr Denny. 

The hotel at which we stopped was called the 
Elephant. I remember wondering at the time what 
an elephant had to do in the centre of Scotland. We 
did not, however, stop very long there, and after 
some moments rest, we found our way to the castle. 

The position of the castle of Dumbarton is, in 
reality, a most striking one ; it is built upon a rock 


yS The Honeymoon. 

that rises out of the Clyde to a height of about 560 
feet, and the blue waters of this river bathe the feet 
of its old walls. On the other side flows the Leven, 
previous to its junction with the great river. The 
country around is flat, and this makes the castle 
appear more picturesque and imposing. Its situation 
between the highlands and the lowlands was very 
favourable for the defence of the country, and for this 
reason, this fortress has been so often the object of 
terrific and bloody conflicts. We all know the brave 
way in which Sir William Wallace took it at the 
beginning of his wars against England, and we have 
all admired the courage and faithfulness that the 
young Edwin displayed in its attack. Here, too, 
Wallace was confined for some time previous to his 
being sent to England to die. 

Since that time, many have been the battles that 
have been fought under its walls. That won by 
Captain Crawford of Tordunhill, in the reign of Queen 
Mary, being one of the most successful. 

We ascended to the top of this formidable fortress 
by a narrow and very steep staircase that seems to 
have been cut in the rock, and after passing a little 
door or gateway, used anciently as a portcullis, that 
has on either side, the heads of Wallace and Monteith 
(the governor of the citadel at the time of the 
former’s imprisonment), we entered a sort of small 
court, where one of the soldiers of the garrison, dressed 
in the picturesque costume of the country, offered 
himself as our cicerone. 


Dumbarton . 


79 


We followed him through another stairway that 
ends at the highest point of the castle. From here, 
we obtained a magnificent view of the Clyde, of the 
old town of Dumbarton, and of the distant, but even 
from here, beautiful district of the lakes, over which 
seemed to rise, as a sentinel, the elevated Ben Lomond. 

“ There you see Scotland,” I said to Conchita, 
pointing to this varied panorama. “ There you have, 
at your feet, this land so often stained with the 
blood of her heroes, and that, in spite of her endless 
enemies, has never yet been conquered.” 

Our guide showed us the ruins of an old Roman 
fortress built, by the masters of the world, upon this 
rock, as a sentinel over the land they were never able 
to subject to their rule. For Caledonia, as Iberia, had 
her Viriatos and her Numancias. 

He also showed us in the armoury, amidst a very 
poor collection of ancient arms, the sword of the great 
Wallace which is great even as its master, for it 
measures five and a-half feet in length. 

On our way down, we visited Wallace’s prison, 
after which, and as we were rather tired, and I did 
not want to fatigue Concha too much, we returned to 
the hotel with the intention of going out very early 
the next day to catch the steamer that was to take us 
to Rothesay and the Kyles of Bute. 

The next morning we breakfasted before seven, and 
very soon afterwards we were on the pier waiting for 
the little steamer in which we were conveyed to 
Greenock. 


8o 


The Honeymoon. 

This is the maritime port of Glasgow, and is 
rapidly becoming a large town that will, some day. be 
very important. When we arrived at the pier, the 
Iona was already there, and we scarcely had time to 
get on board of her, before she set sail in the direction 
of the mouth of the river. 

It was about eight when we left Greenock, and 
when this beautiful steamer began to move her wheels 

I 

over the waters of the blue Clyde. 

The scenery of this river is really splendid. Few 
rivers can boast of such lovely and picturesque shores ; 
from the place we now occupied, we could see a superb 
panorama of Argyleshire and Dumbartonshire, with 
their lakes and their mountains. The Gareloch, the 
Holy Loch, and Loch Long, pour their waters into 
the Clyde near this place, and their shores, for several 
miles, are thickly studded with villas and country 
places. Between the Gareloch and Loch Long, rises a 
promontory, thickly covered with trees, in the midst 
of which stands the mansion of Boseneath, an Italian 
palace, which occupies the site of the old castle of the 
Argyle family. 

A moment after we doubled the point of Loch Long, 
and we came in sight of the town of Dunoon, one of 
the most fashionable summer residences in the west of 
Scotland. 

“ What a beautiful river this is ! ” Conchita said, 
enchanted witli the first glimpse she caught of the 
scene that surrounded us on all sides. “ How 
picturesque and how poetic! How I should like 


Dumb art07i. 


81 


to know the history of some of those castles that 
seem so romantic and so mysterious ! ” 

“ There is a curious legend/’ I said, “ about that 
castle that rises behind the now gay town of Dunoon. 
If you like, I will relate it to you, as well as I can 
remember it.” 

“ Oh, yes ! Walter,” exclaimed the beautiful girl, 
overjoyed with the idea. “ Tell me that old legend. 
You know how fond I am of quaint stories; and 
when they are told by you, they seem to have a 
double interest for me.” 

I seated myself by her side on the deck of the 
steamer, and putting my arm around her, I began the 
following tale. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE PUNISHMENT OF PRIDE : A LEGEND.* 


The Castle of Dunoon, the ruins of which you see 
behind the town, that to-day is one of the gayest 
summer resorts of the rich inhabitants of Glasgow, 
rises upon a little hill not far from the shore. 

At the time of my legend, however, this castle was 

an extensive Gothic pile, with high and solid walls, 

with warlike ramparts, and impregnable battlements. 

Its hall was spacious, and its rooms were adorned 

with the luxuries of the age ; but to-day all this 

% 

grandeur and glory has disappeared. 

“ No more its arches echo to the noise 
Of joy and festive mirth. No more the glance 
Of blazing taper through its window beams, 

And quivers on the uudulating wave ; 

But naked stand the melancholy walls, 

Lash’d by the wint’ry tempest, cold and bleak, 

That whistle mournful through the empty halls, 

And piecemeal crumble down the towers to dust.” 

The view that this castle commands is one of the 
finest in all Scotland. Towards the north is seen, 
between two green hills, the blue and peaceful waters 
of the Holy Loch, that in truth is only one of the 


* See Appendix, Note I. 


The Punishment of Pride. 83 

arms of the Clyde that in this place runs into 
several parts of the land, forming a thousand lakes, 
as if the wide bed through which it runs w^ere not 
large enough to contain it. A little farther, forming 
a background to this lake, rise the mountains that 
surround Loch Long, amidst which we can perceive 
the one called The Cobbler, always at work. 

In front of the old. castle extends the fertile and 
ever-beautiful valley of the Clyde, above which rise 
to-day towards the blue sky the hundreds and. hun¬ 
dreds of chimneys of Greenock and Port-Glasgow. 
But at the period of which I am speaking, the valley 
of the Clyde was still in all its purity, and its virgin 
soil was still covered with the greenest of grass and 
the tallest of trees. Between this plain and the little 
hill upon which rises the Castle of Dunoon ran then, 
as to-day, the wide river Clyde, carrying everything 
with it, towards the sea. 

From the ancient towers of this castle one could 
see in the distance the islands of Bute, and Cambray, 
covered with vegetation, and rising, always green, 
upon the blue sea, like emeralds upon a surface of 
crystal. 

Would it be possible to find a more beautiful site 
for a castle of the middle ages ? 

It was about the middle of the fifteenth century 
when my tale begins. This old castle was then in¬ 
habited by Sir Hamish Campbell, Lord of Loch Awe, 
and his family. 

The Lords of Loch Awe had been masters of this 


8 4 The Honeymoon. 

castle, one of the safest strongholds of Argyllshire, 
since the year 1310, when Robert the Bruce con¬ 
ferred it, with all its surrounding territory, upon Sir 
Colin Campbell. Previous to this it had been a royal 
residence; and this, added to its magnificent situa¬ 
tion, rendered it an object of admiration in the 
west of Scotland. The Lords of Dunoon were 
always feared and respected, on account of their 
influence with the Sovereign, and also in considera¬ 
tion of their impregnable fortress. Moreover, the 
Lords of Loch Awe were connections, although dis¬ 
tant, of the Earls of Argyle, whose surname they 
bore; and this added to the influence they exercised 
in those feudal times, when the great lords were little 
less than sovereigns, who ruled as they pleased over 
their estates and their tenantry. 

Sir Hamish Campbell was in every sense of the 
word a knight of the middle ages. All his time was 
given to hunting and to the other rural sports of the 
time; the field was his. proper place, as he often said 
himself. He was also fond of war, and he kept a 
little army of his own always ready at his call. But 
in spite of those warlike preparations, the Lord of 
Dunoon had never been in any battle ; and either 
because of his generous nature, or of the peace that 
reigned between him and his powerful neighbours, or 
because of his imposing little army, the fact is, that 
nobody ever molested him in his impregnable castle, 
where he lived as a true baron, in the bosom of his 
family. 


The Punishment of Pride. 85 

His wife was a daughter of Lord Douglas of Tan- 
tallon ; and as a descendant of tliis noble family, her 
pride knew no bounds. Often was the good Sir 
Hamish obliged to reprimand his beloved companion 
for this unparalleled haughtiness that she had in¬ 
herited from her forefathers, and which he always 
said would finish by putting an end to his long 
sustained peace with his powerful and jealous neigh¬ 
bour, the Lord of Roseneath, and which even displeased 
the Earl of Argyle, the chief of the clan. 

The first years of his married life were most happy ; 
they were spent in balls and banquets, feasts and 
tournaments—intended to gratify the pride of Lady 
Campbell, who could not rest while others were greater 
than herself. But these pleasures alone could not 
satisfy her; feasts and entertainments were not enough 
to sustain the honour and pride of the house of Loch 
Awe; an heir was necessary, and this heir did not 
come. Only at the end of three years were her de¬ 
sires fulfilled, and then only partly: the beautiful 
Lady Campbell gave birth to the child that was to 
complete their happiness, but, much to their disap¬ 
pointment and grief, this child, so long wished for, 
proved to be only a daughter. The despair of Lady 
Campbell knew no bounds. At length, however, she 
resigned herself again to wait, but no heir made his 
appearance. At the end of four years, after an end¬ 
less succession of doubts and fears, she began again to 
hope that her desires would at last be realised; but 
her pride and ambition were not destined to be grati- 


86 The Honeymoon. 

fied in this respect: the new-born child was another 
girl. 

After this, the unfortunate couple renounced all 
hopes of ever having an heir to whom they could 
transmit the old family name, and all their hopes in 
the future began to rest now on the young Margaret, 
the eldest of their daughters. Lady Campbell took 
upon herself the education of this child, and she, at 
the same time, begged her family to look out for 
some young nobleman worthy of the hand of her 
precious daughter, heiress to the castle and estate of 
Dunoon. 

At the time my story commences, Margaret Camp¬ 
bell was a pretty and bright girl of sixteen. Her 
sister Alice was less beautiful and less interesting, 
and she was also four years younger. 

The character of the two sisters was very similar. 
Living always together and alone in the old castle, 
and being too young yet to take part in the banquets 
and in the numerous feasts given by their mother, they 
were naturally thrown very much upon their own 
resources. The whole day they spent in playing and 
running together in the gardens and woods adjoining, 
and in reading together the old legends of chivalrous 
Scotland. They were so united and so fond of each 
other, that their souls were almost as one ; all their 
ideas and thoughts were the same ; secrets did not 
exist between them. But this moral influence that 
had so joined their thoughts and feelings had not 
been able to affect their physical appearance. They 


The Punishment of Pride. 87 

were so unlike each other, that it would have been 
almost impossible to take them for sisters. 

Margaret’s complexion was dazzlingly fair, and she 
had a beautiful figure. Her beauty was most strik¬ 
ing ; her black hair and her large dark eyes were the 
talk of all who knew her. But her beauty was that 
of youth ; and Dr Thomas Harris, the family doctor, 
used to say, “ I should not be surprised, if this lovely 
child, that all now' admire so much for her beauty, 
should grow up a plain woman ; ” and he was right: 
the beauty of this girl consisted in her fresh colour, 
her long and abundant black hair, and her flexible 
figure. But, well examined, Margaret Campbell lost 
all her attractions. 

Her features were far from beino- regular and well 
formed ; her mouth was large, and the corners of it 
slightly turned down, giving her a disdainful smile. 
Her eyes were large, it is true, but they wanted ex¬ 
pression, and their colour was of a blueish gray, that 
did not suit with her black hair. To all this, I must 
add that the mother’s stern haughtiness was reflected 
in every feature of the daughter ; that this disdainful 
smile and this scornful look made her sometimes far 
from beautiful. But, in spite of all this, Margaret 
was considered in her paternal home a lovely girl; 
and people heard so much of the beautiful heiress of 
Dunoon, that they all agreed at last in thinking her 
really good-looking, and her mother, of course, thought 
her the most perfect of women. 

Alice was quite different from her sister: less 


88 The Honeymoon . 

beautiful at first sight, her beauty was more perfect, 
although less striking. Her complexion, it is true, 
was not so dazzlingly fair, nor her figure half so good, 
yet there was something about this young girl that 
announced a much more lasting beauty. Her features 
were perfect, although her hair was light chestnut, 
almost red, which ill became her dark complexion, 
but her eyes were much more expressive than those 
of her sister, and although she was in reality quite 
as proud, her extreme youth and her sweet smiles 
made one almost entirely forget it. 

And now, my beautiful Conchita, having described 
my dramatis personae, I shall begin my story. 

Lady Campbell, who, from the first years of her 
marriage, had undertaken the entire management of 
the household, also took upon herself the education 
of her two daughters. But being still a young 
woman, with no small pretensions to beauty her¬ 
self, she thought that it would be impossible for 
her to give up all her time to the girls, and as she 
did not like to send them to a convent, she consti¬ 
tuted an old lady, one of her tenants, as duenna, to 
take charge of these girls. This good old lady took 
very little pains, however, with her young pupils, 
and the two sisters grew up with scarcely any education 
whatever. Their mother only took pains in teaching 
them the arrogance and pride that she had inherited 
from her ancient family, and that her own mother . 
had instilled into her heart during the first years of 
her life, in her paternal home of the Douglas. 


8 9 


The Punishment of Pride . 

Lady Campbell spent hours and hours talking to 
the young girls about their ancient family, their im¬ 
portance, and their beauty. She was determined 
that her daughters should maintain the honour of the 
great family they were called to represent. Mar¬ 
garet was, of course, the object of her greatest care, 
not only because she was the eldest, and therefore the 
heiress, but also because she thought her the hand¬ 
somest, and the one who united the best conditions to 
make a marriage suited to her high aspirations. 

As Margaret grew up, those extraordinary notions 
became more and more developed in her heart. When 
she arrived at her sixteenth year, which was about 
the year 1460, that is to say, at the time when my 
tale begins, my young heroine thought herself so 
beautiful and so noble, that she did not consider any 
one worthy of notice if he were not a prince or a 
duke. Lady Campbell said to her every morning, 
“ How beautiful you are, Margaret, you will some day 
be something great, you will be a princess if you let 
me manage everything as I think proper. And you 
should certainly hope to be one, for your family, as 
much by your father’s side as by mine, would cer¬ 
tainly not be unwelcome in any princely house.” 

In this way, alwa}AS taught to think so much of 
herself, and with the conviction that she was destined 
to become a princess, she quite looked down from the 
height of her pride upon all the young nobles of the 
surrounding castles. 

Lady Campbell used all her influence to find a 


90 


The Honeymoon. 


husband worthy of her daughter’s hand, as soon as 
she arrived at a marriageable age, but she found this 
a difficult thing, much more difficult than she had 
expected, and, with the exception of the young Earl 
of Argyle, none seemed good enough for her. She 
therefore employed all her arts, and all her powerful 
relations, to secure this splendid match for her 
daughter. 

The first fear of the anxious mother was, of course, 
that of her Margaret’s falling in love with some poor 
knight of the neighbourhood, and this fear increased 
when she heard that Sir Guy Ashton, only son of the 
great enemy of her family, Lord Ashton, was madly 
in love with her. She watched each movement, 
each word of her daughter, as the officer of the 
customs observes and searches the packages belonging 
to persons whom he suspects. She scorned all 
advice from her husband and from her now banished 
brother, Lord Douglas, about this grand marriage, and 
at last she finished by placing her daughter at such a 
distance from her innumerable suitors, that no one 
dared even to approach her. 

Margaret, in her turn, did not in the least object 
to being watched ; on the contrary, it made her feel 
of greater importance, and it added to her vanity, but 
all this care was perfectly needless. Her ambition 
was as great, if not greater, than her mother’s; and 
she did not in the least trouble herself about the 
sighs and tears of her admirers. Love had not yet 
taken possession of her heart. 


9i 


The Punishment of Pride. 

The heart of a young girl may be compared to a 
fragile ship, which while it remains in the tranquil 
lake of innocence and youth, can be governed by any 
rudder; but which when it enters on the rough sea of 
the passions, and when it is carried hither and thither 
by the contrary winds of impulse, no rudder is strong 
enough to direct its course, and it remains tempest- 
tossed upon the furious waves of the ocean of life. 
This was the case with Margaret Campbell ; at first 
she allowed herself to be led by her mother in the 
paths of her endless ambition ; her youthful heart, 
open to every impression, became completely engrossed 
in the pride of the Douglasses, and she determined to 
wait patiently until some prince or some powerful 
chieftain should come to pay homage to her irresist¬ 
ible attractions. She was so convinced, that at last 
all the flower of Scotland would be at her feet, that 
she despised and disdained all the young knights and 
nobles that came to Dunoon Castle. But before a 
suitor of rank high enough came to ask her hand, 
an incident occurred that would have rendered the 
arrival of all the dukes and earls of the kingdom too 
late. 

About this time the King of Scotland died. He 
was at the time engaged in the siege of the Castle of 
Roxburgh, an old fortress situated near the junction 
of the Tweed and the Teviot, that had remained in 
the hands of the English after the fatal battle of 
Durham. One of the guns that had been prepared 
to attack the castle burst in going off, and a fragment 


92 The Honeymoon. 

of iron broke James’ thigh hone, and killed him on 
the spot. 

Upon the death of King James, II. of that name, 
the army was dispersed, and began to give up all 
hope of freeing the country from the invading 
English. But Margaret, the widowed Queen, went 
to the council assembled by the chiefs, and, with her 
young son, James III., in her arms, spoke those 
memorable words :— fC Fie, my noble lords !—Think 
not now so shamefully to give up an enterprise 
which is so bravely begun, or to abandon the revenge 
of the unhappy accident which has befallen us before 
this ill-omened castle. Forward, my brave lords, and 
persevere in your undertaking, and never turn your 
backs till this siege is victoriously ended. Let it not 
be said that such brave champions needed to hear 
from a woman, and a widowed one, the courageous 
advice and comfort which she ought rather to receive 
from you ! ” 

The chiefs took courage from this speech of the 
Queen’s, and the siege was recommenced. Soldiers came 
from all parts of the country to help the persevering 
force that surrounded the fortress. Sir HamisliCampbell 
would himself gladly have gone with his little army 
to help his youthful king, but Lady Campbell would 
not hear of this. She could not easily forget the 
death inflicted upon her brave father in the castle of 
Stirling by the young sovereign’s own father. She 
could not efface from her proud mind the memory of 
her three brothers slain by the king’s soldiers. For 




The Punishment of Pride. 93 

this proud family, that once even tried to appropriate 
to itself the royal crown, fell at length without any 
decisive struggle by its own unjust, rebellious, and 
wavering ambition. James Douglas, Lady Camp¬ 
bell’s eldest brother, was determined to wear the 
crown of Scotland, after the murder of his father by 
King James, and several and bloody were the struggles 
that took place, until at last, the dreadful battle of 
the Carron, fought on May 1st, 1455, brought to an 
end all further trouble for the legitimate monarch, 
James Stuart. The domineering and princely family 
of Douglas was completely destroyed, as if the hand 
of God had preserved the legitimate king’s rights 
against the armies of the rebellious Earl. 

o 

Archibald Douglas, Earl of Murray, one of the 
Earl’s brothers, fell in the battle, his head was cut 
off, and sent to the King. Hugh, Earl of Ormond, 
was wounded and made prisoner, and immediately 
executed, and John, Lord Balveny, the third brother, 
escaped to England, where the Earl also found a 
retreat. 

After twenty years of banishment the long-forgotten 
rebel returned to his own country in 1484, during 
the reign of the new King, James III. He attempted 
to make a small incursion on the frontiers of Annan- 
dale. He was, however, defeated, and sent as a 
prisoner to the Abbey of Lindores, to which sentence 
he submitted calmly, only using a popular proverb 
of this country, “ He that cannot do better, must be 
a monk.” He lived in that convent only four years, 


94 


The Honeymoon. 

and with him, as the last of his family, expired the 
principal branch of these terrible “ Douglasses of the 
Bloody Hand.” 

But in the epoch of my tale this had not yet taken 
place. James III. was but a boy of eight years of 
age, and Lord Douglas still lived, although banished 
to England. Yet his youngest sister, Lady Camp¬ 
bell, lost no hope, (for this is the last thing we lose) 
and she still believed in the future grandeur of the 
house of her forefathers. She still hoped to see one 
of her race on the throne of Scotland. And she was 
ready to make any sacrifice to obtain the favour of 
Queen Margaret and of her son. Therefore she 
opened her castle of Dunoon to the troops sent by 
the northern clans to help the siege of Roxburgh. 

Lady Campbell tried to hide her pride, and gain 
the gratitude of the young prince, by entertaining his 
soldiers, and giving them hospitality, as was not 
unfrequently done in those feudal times by the barons 
in their castles. 

Good Sir Hamisli was delighted with his wife’s 
idea, and at once ordered a succession of festivities to 
take place, while the army of Lord Macduff (this was 
the clan that had accepted his hospitality) remained 
within his walls. 

Amongst this numerous host there was more than 
one brave knight capable of turning the head of a 
Helen, but one above all others was noticeable 
amongst his comrades. He was but a common page, 
called Bernard Ross, but his appearance, his courage, 


The Punishment of Pride. 95 

his talents, and his manners won for him the good 
graces of all that knew him. Even Margaret, who 
had displayed the greatest scorn for the handsomest 
and noblest knight of the clan, could not help notic¬ 
ing him, amidst this rough set of northern soldiers. 
His good figure, his courage, and above all, his con¬ 
versation, won entirely her heart, as yet so free from 
any foreign affections. 

She confessed to herself that she loved him, but 
she could not understand how it happened that he 
was not a nobleman. This doubt soon, however, 
passed from her mind; she convinced herself at last 
that the young Bernard was a duke in disguise, who 
wanted to win fame and be knighted on the field, 
before he would declare his proper station and rank, 
she had often read of such a thing, and his noble 
mein and proud carriage proved him beyond a doubt 
to be a nobleman in disguise. Once convinced of 
this, for we can easily bring ourselves to believe 
what we like, she did not hesitate to give him her 
heart with all the innocence of a young girl, and with 
all the self-love of a Douglas. 

Bernard, who could not understand his easy victory, 
knowing the ambitious ideas of the young lady her¬ 
self, and, moreover, having heard Lady Campbell s*y 
that her daughter was engaged to the Earl of Argyle, 
was quite bewildered. But this sudden passion of 
the young heiress soon found an echo in his noble 
heart, and he began to love Margaret with all the 
passion of a first love, such as our own is, my sweet 


96 


The Honeymoon. 

Conchita, but let ns forget ourselves now, and only 
think of poor Margaret and her unfortunate lover. 

The more Bernard saw of her the more he loved 
her, and the more he felt encouraged to declare his 
love. Soon after he became completely convinced 
that the young lady’s heart was entirely his, when he 
heard one of the officers say to him one day, as they 
were walking on the ramparts, “ How fortunate 
you are, Bernard ! The beautiful heiress of Dunoon 
asked me but yesterday the name and position of your 
family.” Bernard trembled for a moment, but at last 
succeeded in calming himself, and he asked of his 
friend, “ What answer did you give to her questions % ” 
“ I said that you were the bravest and noblest fellow 
in the clan, and by St Andrew I was right.” Ber¬ 
nard pressed his friend’s hand, but remained silent. 
He was happy, for now he knew she loved him. 

So passed the time quickly and happily for the in¬ 
habitants of the castle of Dunoon, and slowly and 
miserably for the starving garrison in the fortress of 
Roxburgh. The Scots pressed the siege, but their 
numbers were small, and the English army was 
already in Northumberland, menacing a sudden 
attack upon the united clans at the least expected 
moment. The assembled lords talked again of raising 
the siege, and this time not even the courage and 
decision of Queen Margaret would have sufficed to sus¬ 
tain the failing minds of the soldiers and their chiefs. 
But Bishop Kennedy went himself before the walls of 
Roxburgh, and called to every true Scot to follow 


The Punishment of Pride. 97 

him and destroy the fortress that had caused the 
death of King James. 

Lord Macduff no sooner heard this news than he 
decided to go, with all his clan, and help the army at 
Roxburgh. Not one minute would he w T ait. The 
moment of departure came. Bernard, whose heart 
was entirely given up to his love, could not make up 
his mind to go without first seeing his lovely Margaret, 
and receiving from her own mouth the avowal of her 
love. He therefore asked her for an interview. She 
at first hesitated, but at last she granted it: she 
wanted to know for certain his real name and his 
proper rank, although she was sure of his noble 
descent, and that he was a young earl in disguise. 
How easily we imagine a thing when we want it to 
be true! 

It was a beautiful eve in autumn, and the full 
moon lighted up with her pale rays the terraces and 
ramparts of Dunoon, when Bernard, covered with bis 
long cape, and quite concealed by the projection of 
the walls and by the rich vegetation that covered the 
lower part of the castle, descended to the lowest ter¬ 
race, near the banks of the Clyde. Five minutes had 
not passed away before he discerned, at the opening 
of one of the wooded paths, the well-beloved form of 
his lady-love. 

The young soldier rushed forward, and, bending 
one knee before her, pressed her lily-white hand to 
his lips. 

Margaret was the first to speak. “ I have granted 

I. G 


\ 


9 8 


The Honeymoon. 

you this interview, Mr Ross,” she said, “ because I 
wanted to know your intentions and your true name.” 

“ Do not let us talk of names and families, beloved 
lady: here all breathes love, and nothing else. Calm 
thyself, oh ! my love, and forget, by my side, for a 
moment the dull hours you pass in yonder sombre 
fortress. Ah \ is it not true, oh 1 my angel, that on 
this lonely shore the moon shines more clearly and 
one can breathe more freely ? This air, so full of the 
aroma of the wild flowers that rise from those green 

I 

fields; that water, so calm and blue, that seeks to 
kiss thy feet; ah l is it not true, my sweet Margaret, 
that they are whispering of love ? And those two 
liquid pearls that are peeping out of thine heavenly 
eyes, and that rosy blush that now suffuses thy fair 
cheeks, are they not also born of love ? Oh ! my 
beautiful Margaret, see here at thy feet all my life 
and my fortune are prostrate. One word would open 
heaven to me; at the murmur of another, I will 
plunge into yonder river.” 

“ Oh, stop, for God’s sake f Bernard,” the young 
girl cried, raising him from the ground; “ when I 
hear those words, I seem to go mad, and my brain 
burns, my head swims, and my heart is ready to 
burst. If I had not loved thee, Bernard, would I 
have come to meet thee here ? I know that my 
honour and that of my family is in my hands ; but 
passion is stronger in my heart than the sense of duty, 
and even of pride.” 

“ Oh ! thank heaven you love me, Margaret. Now 


The Punishment of Pride. 99 

I shall fear nothing ; no arm can hurt me, no arrow 
can pierce my heart, for I leave it here at thy feet. 
I will go to Roxburgh; the world will hear my name; 
my arm will slay the murderer of our King; and then 
I shall be worthy of thy hand, my beautiful pearl, my 
lovely Margaret.” 

She trembled at this vehement speech. She loved 
him more than ever; but why was he not now worthy 
of her hand ? why must he conquer that name that 
by his birth should belong to him already ? She 
wanted to clear the mystery at once, and after a little 
hesitation she began— 

“ Before loving one another, my Bernard, it is 
necessary to know our names. You know mine, but 
yours as yet is unknown to me. Discover thyself, 
my brave knight. I will keep thy secret as I have 
kept thy love, hidden in my heart. I see through 
your conduct, my gallant champion : you hide your 
noble name, in order to proclaim it one day before 
the w T orld as that of the deliverer of Scotland.” 

The young man was surprised at this unexpected 
speech; his courage seemed to fail him, and he dropped 
the hand he held between his. “ You know my name, 
Margaret,” he said at last; “ I am the Esquire, Bernard 
Ross, page to the Lord Macduff. I have no secrets 
from you ; I have never deceived you. It breaks my 
heart to undeceive you now, if you have thought 
me more. I am not a nobleman, not even a knight; 
but I will become both if you only love me as I love 
you. I offered you my love as Bernard Ross, and 



IOO 


The Honeymoon. 

you accepted it; but now I see that I am not enough 
for the daughter of Sir Hamish Campbell. I will 
therefore go to the battlefield, and make myself worthy 
of her. I fear nothing if you love me still. But, 
before going, tell me, oh ! my beautiful and queenly 
love, will you accept my hand when I am worthy of 
thine ? ” 

The proud girl had heard this speech as a criminal 
hears his death-sentence. She remained like a statue, 
leaning over the battlements ; all the colour went out 
of her face, and her eyes looked vaguely upon her 
lover. All her long-cherished hopes fell to the ground: 
she who had refused knights and nobles, because she 
did not think them good enough for her, was now 
deeply in love, and at the mercy of a simple page, 
without name or friends ! It was too hard a blow 
for her, and she could say nothing to that faithful 
and once loved, but now despised, lover. 

Bernard noticed her indecision, observed her inner 
struggle, and, throwing himself once more at her feet, 
exclaimed, amidst his tears, “ Oh ! answer me, Mar¬ 
garet ; answer me. This incertitude is worse than 
death. You yourself have just told me that you love 
me ; have you so soon forgotten this love ? Tell me, 
when I come back from Roxburgh, will you be mine ?” 

This last word was scarcely audible, but Margaret 
divined it, and, making a tremendous effort, answered, 

as she burst into a flood of tears, “Never - never” 

She advanced two steps, and tried to fly, but her 
strength failed her, and she fell senseless to the ground. 



IOI 


The Punishment of Pride. 

Bernard looked at her for a second, knelt down, 
and kissed her fair forehead. “ She is right,” he 
murmured. “ The descendant of the great Douglas 
cannot become the bride of a poor Squire. I was a 

madman to think otherwise.-It ruins my life. 

For her sake I would have been a hero ; I would 
have tried to conquer a name and a title ; but with¬ 
out her, only one thing remains for me— death” and 
saying those words, he threw himself over the ram¬ 
parts, and plunged into the river below. 

Six months had passed since that desperate scene 
between the lovers. Margaret had heard nothing of the 
fate of Bernard ; she thought him with Lord Macduff; 
but her heart burned still with this first love; she 
could not forget his last words, and her cruel answer. 
She loved him more than ever. The war with Eng- 
land had come to a happy conclusion. The Scottish 
chiefs, helped by the little army of Lord Macduff, had 
persevered in the siege of Roxburgh castle until the 
garrison, receiving no relief from the English army in 
Northumberland, was obliged to surrender the place 
through famine. The English governor was put to 
death, and the death of the brave King of Scots was 
fully avenged. The assembled lords levelled the walls 
of the castle to the ground, and returned victorious 
from this enterprise which had cost them so dear. 

Queen Margaret was delighted, and, to express her 
satisfaction, interceded with the young Earl of Argyle, 
and finished by promising the pardon of the Earl of 




102 The Honeymoon. 

Douglas, and his restoration to all his former rights, if 
the Earl of Argyle married Margaret Campbell, the 
daughter of the Douglas’ only sister, thus uniting the 
two most powerful families of the kingdom. 

The Earl consented to this union ; he had often 
heard the beauty of Margaret praised at the court, 
and he therefore accepted Sir Hamisli’s invitation to 
a great hunt on the banks of the Gare-Loch, in order 
to see his future bride, and judge for himself. 

This news filled with pleasure the tenantry, and 
friends of Sir Hamish, and Lady Campbell who 
at last was going to see her long dreamt of wishes 
realised, surpassed herself in the preparations that she 
made in order to receive her noble guest. 

Margaret heard this news with the greatest indif¬ 
ference ; what was the world to her now that she 
had lost her lover ? She, of all the inhabitants of 
Dunoon castle, was the only one who remained cool 
and self-possessed, 

The day of the Earl’s arrival came at last. All 
the inhabitants of the Clyde were ready to receive 
the chief of their clan in the park of the castle. The 
bells rung their merry peals from the early morning, 
the pipers played their gayest tunes upon their primi¬ 
tive but melodious instruments, the young girls sang 
as nightingales among the roses, all was gaiety and 
happiness that day. Inside the castle, Lady Camp¬ 
bell gave her last directions, and the arrangements of 
the horses and the hounds were superintended by Sir 
Hamish himself, for the great hunt that was to take 


The Punishment of Pride. 103 

place on the morrow. All were gay and happy ex¬ 
cepting our poor heroine, she for whom all these festivi¬ 
ties were organized, she whom all hoped soon to see 
bride of the young chief, she alone was dull and 
miserable in the midst of the general rejoicings. 

Bernard occupied all her thoughts even at this 
moment, when her ambitious plans were at last going 
to be realised. “ Can he love me still ? ” she said to 
herself. Can he love me after that dreadful night 
on the ramparts ? . . . Oh 1 if he has a heart, he 
must surely hate me now. I was so cruel to him, 
.... and to myself! But what could I do ; all 
my hopes had been destroyed, all my thoughts of 
happiness had vanished. I only did what I should 
have done, what the honour of my family obliged me 
to do, to refuse an unworthy love, although I should 
be obliged first to destroy my own heart. My uncle s 
life depends on my decision, and what is my poor 
heart compared to the honour of the house of 
Douglas ? Now, thahks to me, he will again be 
taken into favour, and who knows if some day we do 
not end by occupying that throne that by right 
should be ours ? ” 

Such were poor Margaret’s thoughts, the two great 
passions of love and of ambition fighting continually 
in her tender bosom. 

On the evening of that memorable day the Earl 
arrived, with all his retinue of pages, knights, and 
squires. 

Sir Hamish Campbell received his noble guest in 


104 The Honey mo on. 

the entrance hall, and after the ordinary salutations 
were exchanged, he conducted him to the great 
banqueting hall, where Lady Campbell and the other 
ladies of the castle, amongst whom was Alice, beauti¬ 
fully dressed in brocades and gold, and literally 
covered with precious stones, were assembled to greet 
the chief of their clan. 

The Earl mistook this younger daughter for the 
renowned heiress of Dunoon, and, taking her hand, 
agreeably surprised by her beauty, he said, “ In truth, 
my Lady Margaret, your beautiful face is even hand¬ 
somer than I could ever have pictured to myself in my 
most pleasant dreams.” Everybody was surprised 
at this mistake, but Lady Campbell corrected it by 
saying, “ This is not my daughter Margaret, my 
Lord, but my second daughter, Alice; to-morrow 
you will see her, to-night she begs to be excused 
from paying her respects to your Lordship on account 
of a slight indisposition.” 

The young chief excused himself for his mistake, 
and, taking the hand of the mistress of the house, 
passed into the great dining hall, where a magnificent 
supper awaited them. 

In the meantime Margaret had retired to her 
chamber, and, after sending away her attendants, 
she sent a message to her sister Alice, asking her to 
come to her as soon as possible. 

Half an hour had passed away before Alice came 
to her sister s dormitory. She entered the door to 
find Margaret kneeling in front of an image of Christ 


The Punishment of Pride. 105 

on the cross, in fervent prayer. When she saw her 
sister she rose, and, taking her by the hand, she 
showed her the image, saying at the same time, “ Do 
you see that crucifix, Alice ? It represents our 
earthly sorrows. Each of us is obliged to carry his 
cross, and at last we are all nailed to it, for each of 
us must be sacrificed for the rest of humanity.” 

Alice, grieved and surprised, tried to console her 
sister by describing to her the beautiful appearance 
of the Earl, his splendid dress, his numerous attend¬ 
ants, and the magnificence of his retinue. Margaret 
listened to her in silence, and when she had quite 
finished, she said, “ What to me is the person of my 
bridegroom ! I marry the Earl of Argyle, not the 
man that personifies him ! If, instead of a handsome 
youth, ’he had been a deformed old man, I would 
have married him all the same. . . . My heart was 
never taken into consideration in this affair, no, not 

even by me.My pride and my ambition were 

the only feelings consulted. . . . Oh, Alice, I am 
ashamed to own it, but I still love poor Bernard !” 

After these sad words the two sisters separated. 
But before Alice returned to the hall where the guests 
were still assembled, her sister said to her, “Alice, I 
am afraid of being alone in this lonely part of the 
castle, now that there are so many strangers in it; 
lock the door from the outside, dear sister, and to¬ 
morrow you can give the key to my maid, in that 
way I shall feel safer, and will not be afraid of being 
molested through the night.” 



106 The Honeymoon. 

Alice went away, carrying with her the key, and 
Margaret lost no time in going to her bed, she was so 
worn out that she soon fell fast asleep. 

An hour had hardly elapsed when a strange noise 
awoke her. She listened, and again and again she 
thought that she heard this strange noise. It seemed 
to come from the chimney of the apartment. Mar¬ 
garet, frightened out of her sleep, raised her head from 
her pillows, and, opening the heavy curtains that 
hung round the old bedstead, she saw a man descend 
slowly, whilst making the most extraordinary move¬ 
ments, down the chimney. This was a large and 
old fashioned fire-place, that occupied nearly the whole 
of one side of the chamber. Being summer, there 
was, however, no fire in it. 

This man, whom she took at first to be a robber, 
had all his clothes in rags that hung about him like 
so many ribbons. His hair was long, and hung in the 
most complete disorder over his face, and the whole 
of his person was in such a dilapidated state, that it 
would surely have inspired any one with horror and 
disgust. 

Margaret, pale with fright, and with all her beauti¬ 
ful black hair hanging around her, rushed towards the 
door thinking to escape before the strange person who 
had entered her apartment in such an extraordinary 
and unexpected manner could notice her. But the door 
was shut, and her sister had borne away the key. 

The poor girl then, half dead with fright, could not 
restrain a cry of horror, she ran again to the bed, 


The Punishment of Pride. 107 

and tried to hide herself among the hangings, but 
the strange man saw her, and rushing after her, 
began a chase around the chamber that would have 
horrified any living soul ; the young girl screamed 
with all her force, and the man laughed with all his 
might, but the room was in the top of a lonely tower, 
and nobody could hear the dreadful cries of the one, 
or the awful laughter of the other. 

At last her strength failed her, and she fell to the 
ground, the man who had come down the chimney 
took her in his arms, uttering a low, shrill, and pene¬ 
trating cry. 

Margaret raised her eyes, and for the first time 
she saw the face of the stranger. Then she recog¬ 
nised him. ... It was Bernard Ross ! . . . Her 
head went round and round, her heart beat with 
violence, her breathing ceased, and she fell senseless 
upon her bed ! 

Yes, it was Bernard Ross, but in what a state ! 

The six months that had passed since that memor¬ 
able night, when his destiny had been so cruelly 
solved, had made of him a wild madman ; those 
dreadful six months had transformed the gay cavalier 
into little more than a ferocious animal. His reason 
had gone after his love, and of the brave and gallant 
page, only remained the earthly body, deprived of his 
beauty, as of his senses. 

One look had been enough to convince our poor 
heroine of the whole truth ; it was too much for her, 
and she had fallen fainting upon the bed. Bernard 


io8 


The Honeymoon. 

threw himself over her breathless form, and encircled 
her neck with his bare arms. 

A whole hour passed like this, without either of 
them making the slightest movement. When at last 
Margaret recovered her senses, she found herself im¬ 
prisoned in the arms of her former lover, who, noticing 
her movement, cried, with all the strength of his voice, 
“ Now I have thee at last, cruel and proud woman, 
you who despised me, you who played with my heart. 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! Now you will be mine—or die ! ” and 
the most diabolic laughter burst again from his lips 
that were covered with foam. 

Margaret threw an anxious look around her, to see 
if there was any means of escape; but, alas ! the door 
was locked from without, and this was the only exit 
available in her apartment. 

She was obliged to submit to his embraces and his 
curses, to his kisses and his blows ; for she had no 
power whilst thus imprisoned in his strong arms. 

Thus passed the hours, that were more like cen¬ 
turies of torture for the poor girl. The sight of her 
lover in this condition had awakened in her the senti¬ 
ments of the wrong she had brought upon his innocent 
head. Her conscience tormented her perhaps more 
than his blows. “ It is thine own fault,” it said to 
her; “you have turned his senses; you have destroyed 
his reason ; you have extinguished his life.” 

She felt powerless in his grasp ; her moral as well 
as her physical strength had disappeared. Now for 
the first time she saw the height that this love had 



The Punishment of Pride. 109 

attained in the heart of this man ; now she perceived 
the vehemence of that love which she had not even 
imagined. 

Bernard’s reason had quite left him, but his love 
reigned still in his heart; in all his ravings and fancies 
the name of Margaret was constantly mixed up ; and 
he pronounced that name, that once had seemed so 
sweet to her ear when pronounced by him, with the 
loudest and wildest cries. 

Each hour seemed an age to the unhappy girl; and 
when at last the day began to dawn in the east, it 
found the young girl changed into an old woman. 
The lovely features of the heiress of Dunoon had dis¬ 
appeared, as if fifty years had passed over her head 
during that single night ! 

At eight o’clock Alice came herself to open her 
sister’s door. As soon as she saw the door open, 
Margaret gave a start, and, freeing herself at last 
from the madman’s arms, ran through the passage 
and through the saloons, and did not stop till she 
entered the hall, where the Earl of Argyle and the 
whole family and their guests were assembled for the 
early meal. 

The astonishment of all present was inexpressible. 
The person who entered the apartment was no longer 
the beautiful Margaret, the renowned heiress of 
Dunoon, but a worn-out old woman, enfeebled by 
intense suffering. Her haggard face had lost all 
its freshness and colour, and was disfigured with 
wrinkles that indicated the enormous sufferings she 


r io 


The Honeymoon . 


had gone through. Her beautiful black tresses were 

O O 

now quite white ; and altogether her aspect made 
one shudder with horror. 

Such was the beautiful Margaret after this night of 
terror ! 

The general consternation was only augmented 
when the cause of this disaster rushed himself into 
the hall. The mystery was now explained, and 
several men rushed forward and secured the madman, 
who, pointing his finger towards Margaret, continued 
his horrible laughter. 

The old doctor undertook the madman’s care, and 
Lady Campbell and Alice conducted Margaret to her 
apartment. She had hardly strength to narrate what 
had happened, and finished by fainting again upon the 
bed. 

Alice told them the unfortunate love affair of her 
sister, and her proud behaviour. Lady Campbell 
could not bring herself to believe in this love of her 
daughter’s, that she had not even suspected. 

To this dreadful scene succeeded a calm still more 
painfully trying. The Earl and all his retinue of gay 
cavaliers departed that afternoon, seeing that his pre¬ 
sence was now useless in the castle; and with him 
disappeared all the gaiety and all the former happiness 
of the old place. The unhappy Margaret continued 
seriously ill from the results of that terrible and 
never-to-be-forgotten night. The fever consumed 
her by slow and marked degrees, and carried her to 
the very verge of the grave; but God did not want 


The Punishment of Pride. 111 

to take her until she had expiated the harm that her 
pride and ambition had brought upon her lover and 
upon her family. 

After three months of constant pain and suffering, 
the poor woman slowly recovered. The first in¬ 
quiries she made when she recovered her senses were 
about Bernard’s fate. The doctor then informed her 
that he was a great deal better, and that by degrees 
he was regaining his lost mind, thanks to the great 
care they had taken with him. 

Then she also learned, for the first time, that on 
the night of their interview he had been found by 
some fishermen in the river, that at first they had 
thought him dead, but that finding he lived, they 
had transported him to their hut, where he recovered 
his health but not his reason. Since then he had 
been kept for six months in a cave that they had 
discovered near the castle, from which he had run 
away the day of the Earl’s arrival, when the fisher¬ 
men who kept it had forgot to shut the door in the 
general rejoicings. 

Margaret’s first care, when she had recovered her 
health, was to see her lover ; she had suffered so 
much during that dreadful night that had robbed her 
of her health, of her beauty, and of her youth, that 
she could not banish from her thoughts the idea that 
he who had been so constant, and who was innocent 
of all, should suffer for ever, and for her cause. 

Her heart was on the whole good and noble, and 
was touched by his constancy, and by his present 


I I 2 


The Honeymoon. 


most miserable condition, and from that moment she 
dedicated herself exclusively to soothe his sufferings, 
and to try to restore to him the reason she had been 
the cause of his losing. 

Through her constant care, and with the doctor’s 
skill, he soon recovered his reason, and what was his 
joy when he found himself in the arms of the Mar¬ 
garet he had so much loved ! 

Alice, in the meantime, had taken the place of her 
elder sister in the castle of Dunoon. She was now 
the great attraction there, and her gaiety and her 
smiling face succeeded in time to restore to the old 
castle some of its former gaiety, and to her unfortunate 
family a great deal of their lost happiness. 

The Earl of Argyle, who had been struck with 
Alice’s beauty from the moment he had seen her on 
the night of his arrival, asked her hand from her 
father, who was, of course, overjoyed at the idea. 
The Queen herself approved of the union, and the 
proud and ambitious Lady Campbell saw the dream 
of her life realised at last in the person of her second 
daughter. The idea that her brother would perhaps 
recover his estates and return to Scotland, was enough 
to flatter her pride and ambition, and to make her 
forget the blow she had received in her ambitious 
hopes for her eldest daughter. 

The marriage took place in the chapel of the castle, 
and all those who assisted at it returned convinced 
that the newly married pair were the happiest couple 
in life, but they certainly would not have sustained 


The Punishment of Pride. 113 

this with such determination if they had seen in a 
corner of the chapel Bernard and his Margaret, who 
had obtained that very day the permission from Sir 
Hamish to solemnise their union, and who indeed 
presented the most perfect picture of felicity that one 
can imagine. 


T. 


H 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE KYLES OF BUTE. 

When I had finished this legend I felt two tears upon 
my hand. 

Silence reigned for a few seconds, and then was 
broken by the sweet voice of my young bride, who 
said, “ Poor Margaret ! she really deserved to be 
happy after all she had suffered. Yet although I 
pity her, I cannot say that I admire your heroine, 
she was too haughty, and in her heart ambition occu¬ 
pied a greater place than love.” 

I took her hand again in mine, and said to her, 
“ And you my angel, you who are so beautiful and so 
good, what would you have done if you had been 
placed like her between pride and love ?” 

“ I would have sacrificed all for my lover, if I 
could not first have extinguished with my tears the 
flame that consumed my heart, I could never have 
had the cold courage to sacrifice my love to the 
honour of my name. But, thanks to the blessed 
virgin, this was never demanded of me, on the con¬ 
trary, my mother’s wishes were always mine. And 
your love filled the whole of my heart, so that there 
was no room there for any other sentiment. When 


The Kyles of Bute. 115 

one dreads loving, it is only because that love is not 
a true one. Those inner struggles cannot proceed 
from a true holy passion, for such a passion would 
know no opposition.” 

“ Oh my Conchita,” I exclaimed, moved by those 
words, “let us return due thanks to God that such 
a sacrifice was never needed in order to secure thy 
happiness ; if your impressionable heart had been 
put to the trial of having to choose between your 
family and your love, I think you would have 
perished in the struggle, you who are so innocent, so 
loving, so obedient, you would have died before taking 
such a resolution.” 

“ Yes, Walter, I should have died, perhaps, although 
I am not so weak as you suppose, but, thanks to God’s 
mercy, this was quite unnecessary in our case, and I 
give Him thanks night and morning for preserving 
me from all those trials and temptations that the 
greater part of lovers must suffer before obtaining the 
reward of their love.” 

“ You judge the world according to the novels you 
have read, perhaps, my beloved Conchita. In real life 
love’s prize is not so difficult to obtain as it is painted 
in those books. How many are married from the 

4 

first to the one they love, as it has happened to us ! 
It is true that some times one mistakes a passing 
admiration for a true love, but this is only when the 
mind is guided by ambition, by selfishness, or by the 
persuasions of our friends or relatives, rather than by 
our own feelings. The heart cannot be mistaken. 


116 The Honeymoon. 

And one cannot fail to be happy if one marries the 
bride of one’s choice, unless, like Arthur—- 

‘ He loves better to bide by wood and river 
Than in bower of his dame Queen Guinevere; 

For he left that lady so lonely of cheer, 

To follow adventures of danger and fear, 

And little the frank-hearted monarch did wot 
That she smiled in his absence on brave Lancelot.’ 

“ For if such is the case, we must not wonder that 
the beautiful wife should seek in another the love she 
misses in her companion, and that she fills the heart 
with Lancelot’s love that ought to have been filled 
with Arthur’s only. How often this happens, how¬ 
ever ; how often misery and trouble are brought 
upon whole families by the negligence of one 1 And 
how many unhappy wives finish by exclaiming as 
Guinevere— 

‘ I wanted warmth and colour, which I found 
In Lancelot. Now I see thee what thou art— 

Thou art the highest, and most human, too, 

Nor Lancelot, nor another.’ 

“ But then, it is not every husband who pardons 
so royally as Arthur did. 

“ Life, however, is not all winning, and we must 
expect to lose sometimes ; nothing is as perfect as we 
dream it to be, and nothing is as bad as we imagine. 
We expect to find a perfect woman for a wife, but 
we should first be sure that we are perfect ourselves. 

“If life is not all uphill work, neither is it all 
play, and the difficulties and obstacles only make the 
thing more valued when once won. 




i 1 7 


The Kyles of Bute. 

“ If the love affairs that have so much interested 
you in the novels you have read had been accomplished 
without the smallest difficulty, surely they would 
have lost all their interest in your eyes. Sorrow, 
suffering, struggles, numerous obstacles, oppositions, 
and difficulties are much more interesting than happi¬ 
ness and true love. 

“ Our whole moral existence depends, however, on 
this word ‘ Love/ 

“ If we love an impossibility, we perish with it. 
If we love with hope, we waste our life, but we do 
not end its duration. But if we love and are beloved, 
then our lives are indeed supremely happy—sweet 
and serene as the heaven from whence love comes. 

“ This sort of love does not do for novels. In them 
the interest must augment as we advance in the book, 
and excitement and adventure are required to make 
up the plot.” 

Conchita listened to me in silence, and when I 
had finished, she remarked, “ Sometimes I have won¬ 
dered if our love was of the same class as that described 
in novels. I compared the love I had for you, Walter, 
with those all-consuming passions of the Lorenzas, 
Rebeccas, Claras and Helens, of which we read in the 
most celebrated novels ; and I found that my love 
was different from that felt by those women. And 
then, everything went so well in our case, everybody 
was so glad at our union, that sometimes I thought, 
‘ This cannot be love ! This has no analogy whatever 
with the love of which I have read.’ ” 


118 The Honeymoon. 

I could not restrain a smile. “And yet,” I said, 
“ you see, my darling, that after all we love each 
other as much as Romeo and Juliet, or Faust and 
Marguerite ever could love on earth. It is true that 

O 

the history of our love would make a very poor plot for 

a tragedv or a novel; but can it be less real for this ?” 

© «/ ' 

The steamer stopped, and our conversation was in¬ 
terrupted. We had just entered the bay of Rothesay, 
and a moment after we reached the pier. 

I turned my head to have a look at the town, and 
I was astonished at the magnificence of the scene 
before me. 

Rothesay is situated at the extreme end of a large 
bay on the north side of the Island of Bute. In front 
of the harbour runs the Clyde, that stretches itself in 
every direction, forming an innumerable succession of 
lakes and bays, some of considerable extent. On the 
other side of the river rise the Highlands, always 
imposing, and always romantic and beautiful. 

The town is built in the shape of an amphitheatre ; 
and on its highest part rises the old castle, the feudal 
residence of the ancient kings, and that, as an old 
man who is sitting next to me assures me, was built 
in the year 1100. He also informs me that Robert 
II., who rebuilt it, created his son David Duke of 
Rothesay, the first dukedom conferred in this country. 

* I also remembered that the celebrated Countess of 
Mar entertained here Sir William Wallace after the 
siege of Dumbarton, and how, in 1685, the Earl of 
Argyle burnt it to the very ground. 


The Kyles of Bute. 


119 

At ten o’clock we left Rothesay, and soon after we 
entered the famous Kyles of Bute. 

This strait is formed by the northern coasts of the 
Island of Bute and by the mountains of Cowel, in the 
Highlands, forming thus a passage between the mouth 
of the Clyde and Loch Fyne. 

W hat first attracted our attention on entering this 
sound was Loch Striven, a most romantic arm of the 
sea, that runs for a long way between the mountains 
into the mainland. 

Conchita, who sketches very well, wanted to draw 
those peaceful waters, in which are reflected so many 
wonderful mountains and so many vaporous clouds ; 
but one moment after this glorious dream-like scene 
had vanished from our sight. 

But another view, no less beautiful, was now begin¬ 
ning to unfold itself before us. As we advanced, the 
mountains seemed to rise in height and splendour, and 
their reflection became more and more distinct upon 
the water, that like a mirror surrounded us. The 
vegetation was not particularly fine ; but what can 
be compared with those grey and imposing rocks and 
cliffs against which the waters dash in foam, and 
sparkle like diamonds in the summer sun, with 
those solitary but magnificent lochs of Scotland 
that say so much to the imagination and to the 
heart ? 

Colintrive is situated half way up the strait, and 
from this place to the entrance of Loch Ridden a 
beautiful valley divides the mountains. 


I 20 


The Honeymoon. 


“ Right through the quarry, we beheld 
A scene of soft and lovely hue! 

Where blue and grey, and tender green, 

Together make as sweet a scene 
As ever human eye did view. 

Beneath the clear blue sky we see 
A little field of meadow ground; 

But field or meadow name it not— 

Call it of earth a small green plot, 

With rocks encompassed round.” 

Near this spot four lonely islands rise from the blue 
waves, and they seem to invite the traveller, already 
bewildered with the beauty of the scenery, to rest in 
their green meadows. 

The Scotch gentleman by my side told me that in one 
of those islands, that of Eillangheirrig (name that is 
even more difficult to pronounce than to spell) existed 
once the famous fortress that the Earl of Argyle 
defended in 1685, when the Duke of Monmouth con¬ 
templated an invasion into Scotland. The Earl of 
Argyle, now Duke of the same name, is the powerful 
Mac-Callum More of the Highlands, and the chief of 
the clan Campbell. In the feudal times of old this 
nobleman' 5 exercised an unlimited power in this wild 
and warlike part of the island. 

The Kyles of Bute end near the entrance of Loch 
Fyne, with some steep rocks called Kuban Point, on 
the other side of which the wide waves of the Atlantic 
roll with all their grandeur. 

We were told we had passed the finest scenery, 
and so we took advantage of this to go down into the 
saloon to see if there were any signs of dinner. When 


I 2 T 


The Kyles of Bute. 

we arrived there, however, they told ns that dinner 
would not be till two o’clock. So we returned on 
deck, and from thence ascended to the bridge, in 
order to see better the distant island of Arran, where, 

“ In a lone convent’s silent cell, 

The lovely Maid of Lorn remained, 

Unmarried, unknown, while Scotland far 
Resounded with the din of war ; 

And many a month, and many a day, 

In calm seclusion wore away.” 

For a long, long time we remained on the bridge, 
contemplating together the grim and mysterious 
peaks of Scotland that rose before our sight, and the 
blue waves of the ocean that rolled in all their 
majesty to break upon the virgin shores of America. 

“ So brilliant was the landward view, 

The ocean so serene ; 

Each puny wave in diamonds roll’d 
O’er the calm deep, where lines of gold 
With azure strove, and green. 

The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower, 

Glow’d with the tints of evening’s hour, 

The beech was silver sheen ; 

The wind breathed soft as lover’s sigh, 

And oft renewed, seem’d oft to die, 

With breathless stop between. 

0 who, with speech of war and woes, 

Would wish to break the soft repose 
Of such enchanting scene.” 

“ What a true image of our life is this ocean now 
before us !” I exclaimed, contemplating the waters 
that rolled beneath my feet, “ The soul, as the 
pilot, traverses the ocean of life, knowing the sand- 


122 


The Honeymoon . 

banks and bidden rocks that the tranquil surface bides 
from the anxious looks be casts before him. Can 
man appease the furious waves of the great ocean of 
bis existence, which sometimes in their folly would 
rise to kiss the stars of the impossible heaven ? 

“ If you want to direct the fragile heart of 
humanity, try first to bridle the tempest, to stop the 
hurricane, to quiet the furious waves, and to do away 
with the hidden rocks of life. The waves of the sea 
succeed each other even as our lives. Oh ! nothing, 
nothing shows us better the immense power of God 
than this endless ocean, that seems to obey his 
slightest sign ! For God disposes of everything; 
nothing occurs on the earth that has not its mission, 
the tempests, the hurricanes, even the hidden rocks 
in our path have their mission, and do their work, as 
dictated by the supreme creator, the same in the seas 
of the earth as in those of our existence. 

“ It is from him that we receive light, the greatest 
of benefits that He can give us. He moves the wind, 
governs the seas, gives freshness and purity to the 
stream, and verdure to the spring. He fills our fields 
with flowers, and our groves with song. 

“ It is he who inspires us with the religion that 
lights up our understanding. He moves our hearts, 
refreshes our worn-out spirits. It is He who gives 
innocence to youth ; it is to Him that we owe the 
flowers that we find in our path ; it is He who sings 
in our hearts, who gives double life to matter, and 
who gives eternal life to the dead. 


123 


The Kyles of Bute. 

“ It is He who comforts the heart in this ocean of 
tears, and makes of two souls one, in order that they 
may worship Him as He should be worshipped, in 
order that they may render Him adoration in spirit 
and in truth.” 

Carried away by my devotional reveries, I had 
forgotten, as usual, all that surrounded me, and I 
only beheld Conception, who was looking at me with 
one of her most angelic looks, while her beautiful black 
eyes were filled with tears. 

“ You weep, my angel,” I said. “ Yes, I weep, but 
it is with happiness,” and I took her in my arms, 
and pressed her lovely form to my heart. 

How happy we were at that moment ! How 
happy ! Ah ! none can tell. 

The hours passed, the sea and its islands disap¬ 
peared from our sight, we entered Loch Fyne. And 
when I beheld the deep, dark, mysterious, and solemn 
sheet of water that stretched itself before me, I could 
not restrain myself from exclaiming, as did Robert 
the Bruce— 

“ St Mary ! what a scene is here! 

I’ve traversed many a mountain strand 
Abroad and in my native land, 

And it has been my lot to tread 
Where safety, more than pleasure led; 

Thus many a waste I’ve wander’d o’er, 

Climbed many a crag—cross’d many a moor— 

But by my halidom, 

A scene so rude, so wild as this, 

Yet so sublime in barrenness, 

Ne’er did my wandering footsteps press, 

Where’er I happ’d to roam.” 



124 • The Honeymoon. 

The view now opened before our astonished eyes, 
high rocks rose from the very depths of the sea, a 
profound abyss opened at either side of the loch, and 
the wild waters urged their way, running inwards 
into the mainland in solemn perspective, yet ever and 
anon, as ocean heaves and falls, rendered visible 
in its far sanctuary, by the broad and flashing light 
reflected by the foaming surges sweeping onwards 
from below ! 

“ Where, as to shame the temples deck’d 
By skill of earthly architect, 

Nature herself, it seem’d would raise 
A minster to her Maker’s praise ! 

Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns, or her arches bend ; 

Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, 

And still, between each awful pause, 

From the high vault an answer draws 
In varied tune prolong’d and high, 

That mocks the organ’s melody. 

Nor doth its entrance front in vain 
To brave old Scotland’s holy fane, 

That nature’s voice might seem to say, 

‘ Well hast thou done, frail child of clay! 

Thy humble powers that stately shrine 
Task’d high and hard—but witness mine.’ ” 

The scene again changes, and now it is a vast 
plain that extends before our eyes, a vast plain on a 
rising ground, the whole seeming to rise out of the 
lake of the waters in which it is seen reflected,— 
forming truly a picture of unrivalled beauty, and one 
on which it is delightful to dwell even in remem¬ 
brance. 



125 


The Kyles of Bute. 

This sort of scenery continues till Ardrisliaig, the 
terminus of our trip, and where we arrived at half¬ 
past twelve o’clock. 

The steamer, however, only stopped ten minutes 
there, after which our return journey commenced. 

We dined at two in the buffet in the saloon. The 
meal was very good, but we were in such a hurry to 
get on deck again that we could hardly enjoy it. 

The night came with its gigantic paces over the 
beautiful scene, and with it, the mist soon enveloped 
the whole, obscuring it from our eyes, as a dream of 
beauty is obscured by the fancies of our vivid imagi¬ 
nation. 

“ The evening mists, with ceaseless change, 

Now clothed the mountain’s lofty range, 

Now left their foreheads bare, 

And round the skirts their mantle furl’d, 

Or on the sable waters curl’d, 

Or on the eddying breezes whirl’d, 

Dispersed in middle air. 

And oft, condensed, at once they lower, 

When brief and fierce, the mountain shower 
Pours like a torrent down ; 

And when returns the sun’s glad beams, 

Whiten’d with foam a thousand streams 
Leap from the mountain’s crown.” 

Once more we passed the open sea, where the sur¬ 
face of the water is so marvellously studded with 

“ All the fairy crowds 

Of islands that together lie 
As quietly as spots of sky 
Among the evening clouds.” 

Once more we entered the Kyles of Bute, which 


126 


The Honeymoon. 


looked even grander and nobler now that the shades 
of evening were falling fast upon the mountains, and 
the moon lighted with her silvery beams the project¬ 
ing rocks. 

Conchita took my hand in one of hers, and with 
the other she pointed to the moon in the east, now 
in her first quarter or new moon, while she said, with 
a melodious accent that thrilled my heart— 

“ See how beautiful and how pure she rises to¬ 
night in her birth over the radiant skies, she, like 
our love, of which she is such a good image, begins 
to-night to shed her serene and peaceful light, and 
neither clouds nor mists dare oppose her march. But 
to-morrow, in her last quarter, will she be still the 
same \ Will the passing clouds and the earthly 
mists respect her purity % Alas ! who knows ! 

“ There is a tradition in my country, at which, of 
course, you will laugh, for you laugh at all supersti¬ 
tions, and it is that the young bride who salutes the 
new moon in her first quarter, when for the first 
time she sees her after her marriage, can ask from 
her what she will, and it is sure to be granted. 

“ I believe in this, Walter, and I ask her that our 
love shall not change as does her phases, and that she 
may shine upon us as now for ever this sweet, this 
loving . . . Honeymoon ! ” 



CHAPTER VII. 


THE FIRST SUNDAY. 

The next day happened to be Sunday, an exceedingly 
heavy day in all Protestant countries, but more so in 
Scotland, where the fourth commandment is carried 
to the most absurd extremes. Nothing is done here 
on the Sabbath of the Lord excepting, perhaps, a few 
people getting drunk, which, of course, is quite in 
accordance with God’s word, “ Remember the Sabbath 
day, to keep it holy, . . . for the seventh day is the 
Sabbath of the Lord thy God, . . . wherefore the 
Lord blessed the seventh day, and hallowed it! ” Such 
is the Calvinistic way of keeping the Scriptures ! 

To illustrate this curious fancy, I will relate an 
anecdote that happened to myself on the morning of 
that day. It was at the hotel at Dumbarton. I had 
just got up, and rang the bell for some hot water for 
shaving. A waiter answered my call. “ I want 
some hot water, if you please,” I said. 

“ And for what do you want the hot water ? ” 

“ For shaving,” said I. 

“ Ye canna have hot water on the Lord’s day for 
sic a thing as shaving,” said the waiter, horror struck 
at the idea. I insisted again, but with the same 
effect. 


128 


The Honeymoon. 


“ Na, na,” said he, “ ye canna have it.” Necessity 
is the mother of invention, ’tis said, and this aroused 
mine. I thought that if I could arrange the order 
in such a way that it would not affect his religious 
scruples, he would bring it directly. I therefore 
proposed that I should like some toddy , and told him 
to bring me the materials for making it, consisting of 
whisky, sugar, and boiling water. These he brought 
without the least demur. I gave him the whisky, 
which he drank, and I used the hot water ! 

It was the first Sunday after onr marriage, and 

% 

Concliita, who already began to think that she ought 
long before this to have thrown herself at the feet of 
her holy patroness, “ the blessed Virgin of the Con¬ 
ception ,” felt very much annoyed when she heard 
that there was not such an edifice in Dumbarton as 
a Roman Catholic chapel. Her first thought was to 
go to Glasgow and hear mass there. “ Great God ! 
great God ! ” she exclaimed, overflowing with tears, 
is it possible that I have not been able to assist at 
the holy sacrament of the mass since my marriage ! ” 
And the superstitious young girl put the fault on 
me, saying, “ Oh, Walter, why have yon brought me 
to this land of heretics, where the holy religion of 
God is unknown ! ” 

She cried and insisted so much about going to 
Glasgow, menacing me with the wrath of heaven, 
that at last I consented to go to the station to see if 
there was a train that would take us to that town. 
But unfortunately there was none. “ The trains 


The First Sunday. 129 

don’t run during the hours of divine service,” said 
the station master, in a very dignified way. 

When I carried this news back to Conchita, she 
became furious. “ Oh Walter, it is your fault !— 
but all can yet be managed, let them put on a special 
train for us, and we shall still arrive in time.” 

I went again to the station, but with no better 
luck. “ It is a matter of life and death,” I ventured 
to say to the station master, but he looked shocked 
at my proposition, scandalized at the mere idea of 
running a train at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. 
“ You must thank the English that we run a train 
on Sunday afternoon,” said the Scotchman, “ formerly 
it would have been considered a sacrilege; as for 
putting on a train this morning, it would be quite 
impossible. Go to church now, Sir, and in the after¬ 
noon we will take you to Glasgow ; we are not Jews 
or heretics here.” 

More entreaties would have been useless. I offered 
any amount of money, for I knew that Conchita 
would never pardon me this, but all was useless, and 
I had to go back to the hotel with my dreaded 
answer. Fancy my being a mediator between the 
Roman Catholic girl and the Calvinistic station 
master ! 

Conchita would not listen to such reasons ; blinded 
by her own superstitions, she could not understand 
those of other people. 

I tried to reconcile her, saying, that not to hear 

mass under the circumstances could not be a sin, we 

I 


I. 



130 


The Honeymoon. 


must therefore conform ourselves to the circumstances. 
“We have done all that was in our power to arrive in 
time at a Catholic church, and you see that it has 
all been useless.” 

“ I will do penance for this,” she said, “ for three 
days I won’t eat any meat, and then, perhaps, God 
will forgive me.” 

I found it hard to restrain a laugh when I heard 
this, it sounded so strange to my ear ! but I supposed 
it was all right, and I said no more. 

We went to the window, which looked on to a kirk, 
as the churches are called here. The people were 
going in ; the service was going to begin. 

My young wife was looking anxiously at them 
with her great dark eyes veiled with tears. 

“What would you say to entering with them into 
that kirk ? ” I ventured to suggest. 

“Are you mad, Walter?” she said, casting upon me 
an astonished look. “ How can you even think of 

entering that place of perdition. Oh, never !- 

never ! ” 

“ Then, I suppose, you think that all those good 
people are condemned for entering that 'place of per¬ 
dition, as you call their church ? ” 

“ Of course, Walter. Can you believe otherwise, 
and call yourself a Christian ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ I do call myself a Christian ; but 
before being a Christian I was born a man, and as 
such I cannot possibly believe that God would be less 
generous and just than I, and that He will punish 



The First Sunday. 131 

those poor sinners for ever, because they do not 
happen to belong to the Roman Church, and because 
they thought they were doing right in attending their 
church. All places are equally good to worship the 
Creator in. Has He not made the whole earth ? 
Does He not dwell everywhere ? ” 

“ God is the almighty Creator, and He liveth every¬ 
where ; but he cannot dwell in those places of iniquity, 
where wrong doctrines are taught, and the devil is 
worshipped instead of the Holy Virgin.” 

“ Is that your idea of a Protestant church ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said, with firmness, “ and not mine only, 
but that of all good Christians; and for that we ought 
to pray and do penance, so that we may try to save 
those miserable sinners that condemn themselves 
unawares.” 

“ So, the penance of one washes away the sins of 
another ? ” 

“Ah ! Walter,” she continued, without answering 
my sarcastic question, “ when I think that so many 
millions of men are condemned every day for not 
knowing the doctrines of salvation of our mother the 
Church, I seem to go mad-yes, mad with despera¬ 

tion. Oh ! if I could only suffer myself in order to 
save the rest of humanity, I would sacrifice myself 
without hesitation.” 

Those unselfish words, so full of faith and so dis¬ 
interested, softened my heart, and made me exclaim, 
while I embraced her, “ Oh ! Conchita, how infinitely 
more pure and heavenly, and how much more merci- 



i3 2 


The Honeymoon. 


ful, are your sentiments than those taught by your 
Church ! You would willingly sacrifice yourself in 
order to save your brethren, you, who are but a weak 
woman ! And can it be possible that God, who is all- 
powerful, and to whom it would cost nothing to make 
all His children happy, condemns them instead to an 
eternity of torments ? ” 

“ Do not say such sacrilegious things, Walter. If 
God punishes, it is because He is obliged to punish. 
He can pardon the sin, but cannot do away with its 
consequences. His pardon, thus obtained, would be 
a great act of mercy on His part; but it could not 
be of any use to the sinner. He must suffer for his 
sins before he can obtain the absolution that God will 
bestow upon him after his contrition and his penance. 
Without those, the absolution of the priest is useless. 
Only a very few are damned for ever ; the greater 
part of Christian sinners will go to purgatory, where 
they will do penance for their transgressions, until 
they are perfect enough to enter the kingdom of 
God.” 

“You think very well, Conchita, and your argu¬ 
ments are conclusive. That doctrine of purgatory is 
perhaps the most philosophical of those taught by the 
Roman Church, although I do not quite agree with it 
concerning the nature of the place; in fact, I do not 
think it is a place at all, but rather certain conditions 
of the mind. But in its foundation it is quite philo¬ 
sophical, for none are good enough, wise enough, or 
spiritual enough in this world to enter all at once 


133 


The First Sunday . 

into heaven. Heaven is the supreme of happiness, 
and none can be perfectly happy till he knows all 
things, is all that is good, and loves God above all. 

“ This love is the perfection of our spiritual life, 
and can only be reached when one is the possessor of 
supreme knowledge, supreme goodness, and spiritual 
exaltation, for how can a poor creature love its 
creator if it does not understand Him ? Man may 
obey God’s laws, he may worship his maker, but he 
can only love, him when he can understand him, and 
appreciate his works. 

“ The Catholic doctrine admits the possibility of 
progress after death, it does not deprive the soul of 
its faculties after it leaves the body, as the Protestants 
do ; this is the great advantage that the Church of 
Rome has over the reformed churches ; according to 
which man’s soul goes either to heaven or to hell 
without remission. This is very disheartening, for as 
no one who thinks about himself with impartiality 
can imagine he is good enough to go straightway to 
heaven, there only remains for the poor sinner the 
bottomless pit of hell, always open at his feet. And 
this has made so many good Christians exclaim, like 
the poor old north countryman, ‘ I canna go to the 
church, look ’ee, they’r alius a readin o’ cusses, and 
damnin, and hell fire, and the like, and I canna 
stomach it. What for shall they go and say as all 
poor old wimmin o’ tha parish is gone to the deil, 
? cause they picks up a stick or teu in ’e hedge, or likes 
to mumble a charm or teu o’er their churnin’? Them 


134 The Honeymoon. 

old wimmin be rare an’ good in ither things. When 
I broke my ankle three years agone, old Dame 
Stuckley kem o’er, 1 tha hail and tha snow, a matter 
of five mile and more, and she turned o’ eighty ; and 
she nursed me, and tidied the place, and did all as 
was wanted to be done, ’cause Mary was away 
waking somewheris ; and she’d never let me gie her 
aught for it. And I heard ta parson tell her as she 
were sold to hell! ’cause the old soul have a bit of 
belief like in witch-stones, and alius sets one aside her 
spinnin’ jenny, so that the thrid shanna knot nor 
break. Ta parson he said as how God cud mak tha 
thrid run smooth, or knot it, just as he chose, and 
’twas wicked to think she could cross his will; and 
the old dame, she said, “ Weel Sir, I dinna b’lieve 
tha Almighty would ever spite a poor old crittur like 
me, don’t ee think it ? But if we’ve no help our- 
sells i’ this world, what for have He gi’ed us the 
trouble o’ tha thrid to spin? And why no han’t 
he made tha shirts and tha sheets an’ tha hose grow 
theersells ? ” And ta parson niver answered her that, 
he only said she was fractious and blasphemous. 
Now she warn’t; she spoke i’ all innocence, and she 
mint what she said—she mint it. Parsons niver 
can answer ye plain, right-down, natural questions 
like tliis’n, and that’s why I wanna go to the 
church.’* 

“ There was more truth in his words than the old 
labourer knew himself. The Church of England, as 


* Ouida’s Puck. 



135 


The First Sunday. 

that of Scotland, is not adapted to the moral wants 
ol the men of the nineteenth century, not even to 
those of the most ignorant of countrymen. The 
reformed church left much behind it that was good 
and true, and for this reason, during this nineteenth 
century the fallen Church of Rome is rising gradually 
from its oppressed state, and recovering its ancient 
dominion ; for during the eighteenth century the 
influence of the Church of Rome was constantly on 
the downfall. Doubt made great conquests in all the 
Catholic countries of Europe, and in some countries 
it obtained a complete ascendance. The Papal power 
got so weak in those times that it almost became an 
object of laughter for the infidels, and of pity more 
than hatred for the Protestants. 

“ But now none who calmly reflect on what has 
passed in Spain, in Italy, in America, in Ireland, in 
the low countries, in Prussia, and even in France 
and England, during the last few years, can doubt 
that the power which the Catholic Church has over the 
hearts of men is, although very small, greater than 
it was when the Encyclopaedia and the Philosophical 
Dictionary were first published. ‘ It is very strange,’ 
as Macaulay says, who, if I remember right, also 
thought as I do on the subject, * that not the moral 
revolution of the eighteenth century, nor the counter¬ 
moral revolution of the nineteenth, have been able to 
augment the power of the Protestants. During the 
first period, what the Catholics lost was also lost by 
Christianity ; during the second, what Christianity 


136 The Honeymoon. 

gained, was also gained by the Catholics. One 
would naturally suppose that a great many minds on 
their way from superstition to infidelity, or from in¬ 
fidelity to superstition, would have stopped at an 
intermediary point, but nothing of the kind. It is an 
historical fact, often noticed, that the Christian 
nations who did not adopt the principles of the 
Reformation before the end of the sixteenth century, 
have never adopted them since. The Catholic com¬ 
munions have become infidel since then, or they have 
united themselves again to the Catholic Church, but 
not one of them has become Protestant.’ 

“ Thus expresses himself the great thinker of 
England, and with what reason. The Catholic 
Church has hundreds of defects and faults, and it 
even teaches several doctrines to which reason and 
philosophy is opposed, but in spite of this, it is 
superior to the Protestant churches, and for this 
reason, hundreds of Protestants turn Catholic every 
year. 

“ For several reasons the Church of Rome is superior 
to the reformed churches, but for none so much as 
for the doctrine of purgatory. The Protestants 
believe that those who are not good go straight to 
hell. Is this possible ? The Catholics at least 
believe in an intermediate state, purgatory. 

“ We all must acknowledge that we are neither 
perfect nor good enough to enter the kingdom of 
God, whatever that may be ; but that for this reason 
we must go to hell, and for all eternity, seems to me 


x 37 


The First Sunday. 

to be rushing into the other extreme. Nobody, 
according to my ideas of humanity, is wicked enough 
to deserve an endless punishment.” 

“ But my confessor has always told me that we are 
all the sons of sin, that we are born naturally 
wicked, and that we only differ from each other by 
the propensities we have towards sin. He has often 
told me, also,” she continued, “ that life is a constant 
struggle with sin that would precipitate us into the 
abyss that is always yawning at our feet, and in 
which we should undoubtedly perish, if it were not 
for the beautiful religion taught to us by Jesus, that 
detains us on the verge of the precipice.” 

“ Bo not believe in those blasphemies,” I said. 
“ God would be the agent of evil if he had not 
placed in each of our hearts the magnetic needle that 
is to guide us towards heaven. Our conscience is our 
compass, let us always steer the vessel of our lives 
by it over the rough seas of the world. According to 
the doctrine you have just mentioned, Conchita (I 
am going to show you its absurdity), man was alone 
and without a guide in the world, till the day when 
the Church came to correct the imperfect work of 
God. God made man as good as he could, I suppose, 
but soon afterwards, he finds Himself baffled by His 
own creation. He therefore sends His only Son into 
the world, to suffer and do penance for the sins of 
men. But as for all the thousands of men that died 
before His coming, or for those that die without 
hearing His word, they are condemned to eternal 


I 


138 The Honeymoon. 

damnation. All this is, according to you, very just 
and proper, I suppose ! ” 

“No,” said Conchita, “ God made man good, but 
He also made him free, and therefore He could not 
control his free-will. Man sins, and God must punish 
him accordingly. He would not be just if He did 
otherwise, (you see, Walter, that I put the subject 
quite in your style, so that it may appear most 

1 

reasonable in your eyes, for you lack faith most 
sadly, however, I hope to give you even that in time). 
The glory of God demands the punishment of sin, 
heaven would not be heaven if sin were admitted 
therein.” 

“ You reason admirably, Conchita; but I must 
remind you that God made His children weak, 
innocent, and ignorant, and that He placed them in 
a garden of forbidden fruit, without the necessary 
knowledge of what was good for them. We sin, 
and therefore we suffer the consequences which are 
the punishment—but not an eternal punishment— 
that would be as useless as it would be cruel. God 
wants the sinner to be convinced of his sins, and to 
live; He does not want him to remain for ever in 
sin. We are not born, as your confessor told you, 
wicked; neither are we sons of sin; but we are 
ignorant and weak, and the world in which we live 
is full of temptations. The sin does not proceed 
from our forefather Adam, but from our inexperience. 
God is not baffled by His own creation, but is Hying, 
on the contrary, to make that creation more perfect 



139 


The First Sunday. 

by means of temptations that He puts in our path, 
in order to teach us what is really good by experi¬ 
ence, and to develope our good qualities that would 
otherwise remain for ever dormant in our hearts. 
We fail sometimes to overcome those temptations, 
and we give way to what, in the eyes of men, is 
wickedness, though in reality it is only ignorance. 
This is sin. 

“ The devil can exist only in the imagination of 
the ignorant. This myth is a relic of the times when 
men believed in centaurs and mermaids, in sirens and 
fairies ; when, to account for the vicissitudes of nature, 
all objects, and even the elements themselves, were 
deified. Men were then obliged to acknowledge the 
existence of imaginary divinities, that presided over 
every mountain, river, sea and wind, in order to hide 
their gross ignorance respecting the phenomena of 
nature. Every quality was then also personified, 
and made into a deity : thus beauty was represented 
by Venus, wisdom by Minerva, good by God, and 
evil by the Devil. In those days of ignorance and 
superstition, man was taught that everything had 
its opposite ; and as light had its opposite in dark¬ 
ness, so God had His opposite in the Devil. But 
now we have science and reason to guide us; and as 
the first tells us that light has no opposite, darkness 
being only a condition, not an entity—the second 
tells us that God can have no opposite, being almighty, 
and the Devil, being only a representation of evil, is 
not a reality. 



140 


The Honeymoon. 


“ The same as to-day we should laugh at anyone 
who really believed in the existence of Venus, 
because there is beauty in the world ; or in that of 
her son Cupid, because there is love therein ; so we 
ought to laugh at those who tell us that there is a 
Devil in the universe, because there is sin therein. 

“ Temptation comes from God, and from God only, 
as everything that is good comes from Him ; and 
what is there so beneficial to humanity as tempta¬ 
tion ? Temptation is the goad that helps us forward ; 
and if it were not for this whip, that wakes the 
sleeping man, he would remain slave to his instinct, 
as the animals eating the grass of the prairies and 
the fruit of the wild woods. It is the temptation of 
living better that made him discover the grain of 
corn, domesticate the animals, raise the hut, cultivate 
his intellect. 

“America tempted Columbus in his dreams, and a 
new world was obtained by this temptation. The 
hope of deciphering the enigma of human life tempted 
Pythagoras, and speculative philosophy appeared in 
the world. The ambition of Crnsar tempted him to 
conquer northern Europe, and with his armies he 
carried the civilization of the great empire of Rome 
to the wildest regions of the world. Guttenberg was 
tempted with the desire to render human thought 
permanent, and from this temptation proceed these 
types that now meet your eye. Could anyone but 
God have tempted man to do such things ? 

“ It is true that temptations lead man sometimes 


The First Sunday. 141 

• 

to sin ; blit even this is as good as a lesson to him. 
He may fail twenty times in doing a thing, but if he 
persevere he will most certainly do it at last. Sin 
proceeds from our ignorance, not from a mythological 
devil. God can know no rivals, for 

“ ‘ All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 

Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;' 

That changed through all, and yet in all the same ; 

Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame; 

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, * 

Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 

Lives through all life, extends through all extent; 

Spreads undivided, operates unspent; 

Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; 

As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : 

To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; 

He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.’ * 

“ Yes, as Lamartine expresses it:— 

“ k Le moiide en s’eclair ant s’eleve a V unite .’ ” 


* Pope’s “ Essay on Man.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

Conchita looked at me in silence. She could not 
deny the truth of my words, although they were so 
contrary to the doctrines she had learned in the 
convent. But she had a pure and investigating 
mind, and very good common sense. She believed 
with a blind faith in the doctrines of the Roman 
Catholic Church, but still she wished to hear what 
there was to be said against them. 

This gave me courage, and after a brief pause, I 
began as follows :— 

“ I told you just now that I thought the Roman 
Catholic religion preferable in a great many points 
to the Protestant, but I must also tell you that I do 
not quite agree with it in every respect. You, my 
darling wife, will undoubtedly see, with your clear 
sense of what is right and just, that the Church that 
you believe infallible is far from satisfying the inquir¬ 
ing minds of the men of the nineteenth century ; it was 
based, by the early fathers of the church (who, you 
must admit, did not enjoy the scientific light of the 
nineteenth century) on the teachings of Christ, and you 
know that these teachings were not final, for Christ 



The Roman Catholic Church. 


143 


said to his disciples that he had more to tell (‘ other 
things to tell you, but you cannot bear them now,’) 
and why did he not tell them all at once ? Because, 
as he said, they could not have comprehended him ; 
because all teaching must be gradual ; it would be 
impossible for a boy to begin at the top of the class, 
and much less at the top of the highest class. He 
must climb up step by step, and gain each step by his 
own labour before he makes it His own : each truth 
that he masters enables him to see a higher truth 
beyond, for as Carlyle said, ‘ The goal of yesterday 
will be the starting-point of to-morrow.’ 

“ It is impossible for man ever to see the creator 
as he really is, he can only learn by degrees to see 
him in his works , and these are only now beginning 
to be comprehended by man ; thus you see that each 
century of progress serves to lift a little corner of the 
veil of ignorance that hides him from mortal sight. 
The tendency of man is ever to make God in his 
own image, as man improves he will improve the 
image that he forms in his own mind, therefore his 
God will be grander and greater as man advances in 
knowledge and- wisdom. Even St Augustin, the 
great father of the Roman Church, was obliged to 
acknowledge this, and thus he said in these true words 
which the modern church is so apt to forget, that 
‘ the councils that take place in particular regions, or 
in provinces, must submit without any difficulty to 
the authority of the general councils formed by the 
whole of the Christian world ; and even these general 


144 


The Honeymoon. 


councils themselves are often corrected by those 
which follow them (scepe priora posterioribus emen- 
dari) when what before was hidden is discovered by 
experience, and what was then unknown is at last 
known.’ —De Bapt., lib. II., c. iii. 

u Thus, had Christ said all that he could have said 
at that time, had he even pictured to them the God 
we behold to-day, his hearers would not have com¬ 
prehended him. 

God is God from the creation ; 

Truth alone is man’s salvation : 

But the God that now you worship, soon shall be 
Your God no more ; 

For the soul in its unfolding, 

Evermore its thought remoulding, 

Learns more truly in its progress 
How to love and to adore. 

“ But the Christianity that is taught in the churches 
now-a-days is not, by a great deal, that which 
Jesus taught in Judea one thousand eight hundred 
years ago ; and as I have heard several great thinkers 
observe, ‘if he were to come into the world again, 
the first thing he would do would be to reform 
modern Christianity.’ 

“The change effected in the Christian doctrines has 
nevertheless come about most naturally. 

“ When St Paul and the other apostles introduced 
the new religion into Rome and her empire, they 
adorned it, so to speak, with the doctrines of the 
pagan; and when later on, in the time of Constan¬ 
tine and his mother Helena, it was established de- 



The Roman Catholic Church. 145 

finitively in the city of the Caesars, by far the 
greater part of its rites and ceremonies were Pagan. 
These have naturally remained among the Latin 
races, to which they were so well adapted; while 
the Jewish ones, which in the same way had been 
grafted on the Egyptian, that were dictated to quite 
another race of men, perished and were forgotten. 
Later on, Luther and the other reformers tried to 
establish anew the old and primitive Christianity, 
and with some success. The same, more or less, had 
occurred in the first centuries of the Church in the 
time of Arian, and again, later on, when the Greek 
Church was divided from that of Rome. St Athan¬ 
asius and St John Chrisostomus first thought of this 
change, which, however, was opposed by St Augustine 
and St Ambrosius, who were for the Latin Church. 
The effigies of these four doctors sustain the chair of 
St Peter in the Vatican, in commemoration that it is 
to them we owe the popular theology of the modern 
Church. To them we must also add St Paul, St 
Jerome, St Benitus, St Thomas of Aquino, and all 
the other doctors of the Church. 

“ These were the real authors of the doctrines now 
taught by Rome. It is to them and to their suc¬ 
cessors that we owe those absurd and unphilosophical 
dogmas that make of God a hard taskmaster, of man 
a condemned sinner, of religion a narrow and bigoted 
creed, of life a curse, and of immortality a probable 
Hell! 

“ The fault, however, does not lie with them ; or at 

I. K 


146 The Honeymoon. 

least let us suppose that they believed in what they 
taught, as Torquemada and Calvin believed in their 
most cruel, unholy, and dreadful doctrines. All those 
men were honest, and worked for w'hat they, in their 
blind ignorance and superstition, considered the good 
of humanity. But how mistaken they were ! How 
sad the results! They only drew the outline of what 
their successors afterwards painted with the most 
vivid colours ; they only proposed that of which the 
others have made dogmas ; and thus gradually this 
ill-called Christian philosophy has been growing, till 
it has come to be what we find it to-day. 

“The Christian religion now-a-days, as taught by the 
Church, is still the agglomeration of all the early theo¬ 
logies, doctrines and philosophies, good and bad, that 
were entertained by the ancient fathers of the Church ; 
and, as the priests have often told you, I dare say, 
dear Conchita, they believe that there is no love of 
God, no human pity, no moralit}^, nor even hope of 
any kind, but in the bosom of the Church. He who 
does not belong to one or other of the Christian 
Churches is said to be an atheist and a heretic. 
One can only enter paradise, they say, through the 
doors of their Churches. But through which ? 
Which is the true Church of Christ ? This is the 
question that men ask every day in their hearts. 
Which is the true religion ? If you ask the Catholics, 
they of course will tell you that they are the real 
Christians, the only sons of the Holy Church of God, 
and the only disciples of Christ. If you ask a Pro- 


The Roman Catholic Church. 147 

testant, lie will say, ‘We possess the Word of Jesus, 
we have an open Bible before us, and we follow those 
sacred waitings. Out of the canons of the Church of 
England there is no salvation; the Anglican Church 
(or the Scotch, if he happen to be a Scotchman ; or the 
German, if he is from that country) is the only true 
Christian Church.’ If you ask the same question of 
a Greek, of a Unitarian, of a Lutheran or a Calvinist, 
his answer will be more or less the same—‘ Our 
doctrines are the only true ones, and out of our 
Church there is no chance of salvation.’ The man 
of the nineteenth century who is in search of a re¬ 
ligion can be compared to a traveller who in his 
journey comes to a spot where several roads meet. 
He wonders which road he should follow, and at last 
determines to ask the question of a group of men that 
he meets. ‘ Which is the road that conducts to the 
port of heaven ? ’ Upon which they all begin to 
quarrel, and to point to quite opposite roads, saying 

as loud as they can, ‘ That-that-that is the 

only road that leads to heaven ; the others lead to quite 
opposite places . 7 The poor traveller is bewildered ; 
he does not know which road to follow, and at last 
exclaims, ‘ Settle among yourselves first, my good men, 
which is the true road, and then come and tell me.’ 

“All modern religions have their truths, and yet 
how far they all are from the truth! 

“ The priests teach superstition, not philosophy. 
This has been said very often, and even the Church 
itself has owned to it. Christianity cannot pass, in its 





148 


The Honeymoon. 


actual state, for a philosophy ; for the modern philo¬ 
sophers do not acknowledge it. They laugh at the 
dogmas of Rome, and at the articles of the Anglican 
Church ; they ridicule the orthodoxy of the Czar 
and of the synod of Athens. Modern Christianity, I 
am sorry to tell you, darling Conchita, is a religion 
that lacks reason and unity. With its false doctrines 
concerning God, man, and the relations between the 
two, how can one hope that the scientific or philo¬ 
sophic world will ever join this Church ? Would it 
be possible for a good and intelligent man to believe 
in the existence of a God who is unjust and capricious, 
who has made a wicked and powerful being, in order 
that he might tempt His children, as He ordered him 
to tempt His servant Job, and that if it were not for 
the sacrifice of Christ, He would send all men to hell ? 
Could a philanthropist believe that His God hates all 
sinners, and that He intends condemning them to 
endless punishment, when he would gladly sacrifice 
himself for his fellow-creatures, and when he is un¬ 
happy if he sees his brethren suffering even in this 
life ? How can mortal man believe in a God who is 
less humane and more capricious and selfish than the 
worst amongst themselves ? Would it be possible 
for a man of science to believe in the infallibility of 
the Church, when Galileo and so many others have 
proved its ignorance; or believe in the infallibility 
of the Bible, which is the basis of the Protestant re¬ 
ligion, when geology, astronomy, chemistry and his¬ 
tory have given testimony to its want of knowledge ? 


The Roman Catholic Church . 149 

Can a good woman, who loves her children, believe in 
the goodness of the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, 
and Moses ? 

“ Could Strauss ever believe in the divine source 
of the Jewish Bible, or Voltaire in that of the 
church ? Yet you may just as well pretend that 
they could, if you pretend that the others would. Is 
there a priest that could convince Newton that the 
Holy Ghost is speaking through him when he tells 
him that the sun goes round the earth ? 

“ There are things that the most devoted friends of 
the Church cannot explain, and not even you, my 
dear one, can contradict what I have just said. 

“ The foundation upon which the Christian Church 
is based cannot possibly last much longer. The 
philosophers, the philanthropists, cannot believe in the 
dogmas of such a religion ; their consciences do not 
allow them to believe in doctrines which are so 
opposed to their common sense, and to what they 
hold to be truth. The Church rests upon two 
columns, ignorance and faith. This is enough for 
those who do not read, who do not think for them¬ 
selves, and for those who from habit let the church 
guide their consciences; but for those who dare to raise 
their eyes and scrutinize the truth of the doctrines 
they are taught, and for those who study the works 
of God as seen in modern science and philosophy, 
the Christian Church is not sufficient, and they 
leave it, but whither to go ? Their reason has carried 
them thus far, but they want something to satisfy it ; 


150 The Honeymoon. 

they pull down the Latin church in their hearts, and 
they find themselves all at once in a desert with none 
to guide them. This is why there exists so many 
athiests in the world. 

“ The same takes place more or less in all the 
churches. But this picture is, however, more true of 
the Catholic Church than of the Protestant. 

“ Be it because the members of this church are in 
their greater part more studious, and less devout, or 
be it because its doctrines are more modern, and 
better adapted to the wants of the age, I know not, 
but such is the case. The Catholics must conform 
themselves to what the Pope and his bishops think 
fit to teach them ; the Greeks and the Russians to 
what their holy synods say about religion ; all the 
three hold their respective powers to be infallible, and 
they are not allowed to doubt of the truth of the 
dogmas taught by them. The Protestants have also 
the Bible, which they think infallible, but this book 
needs an interpretation, and every one is authorized 
to interpret it according to his judgment ; from this 
proceed the innumerable Protestant sects. The Anglican 
Church, which as the national Church is the most im¬ 
portant, must conform itself to the doctrines of its bishops 
and its archbishops, and to the dogmas sanctioned 
by the English primate. Tins gives an interpretation 
wide enough to the Bible, but from which none of 
its members must depart.- This interpretation after 
revising, retranslating, correcting, and even changing 
parts of the scriptures, has formed a sort of conformity 


The Roman Catholic Church. 151 

between the ancient Jewish sciences, modern science, 
and modem discoveries ; conformity that would 
surely astonish the Jews of a thousand years ago, if 
they could only see it. But even after all this, the 
Bible cannot be quite reconciled with modern science. 
No matter how they retranslate and interpret the 
Bible, they will never be able to harmonise the 
thoughts of a barbarous and half-civilised race with 
the proved truths of a grand civilisation like ours. 

It would be easier to convert the Jerusalem of the 
first century into the London of the nineteenth. 

“ To prove to you the insufficiency of modern 
churches, and the little power they are able to exer¬ 
cise over the minds of the people, I will repeat to you 
an anecdote from the biography of the great mathe¬ 
matician Euler, that Arago, the astronomer, related in 
the chamber of deputies of Paris in the session of the 
23d of March 1837 ; since then it has appeared in 
several works, and Camille Flammarion copied it in 
his beautiful work that you, of course, must have 
read, ‘ Les merveilles celdstes.’ 

“ Euler, the great mathematician, was a very pious 
man. One of his friends, the clergyman of a church 
in Berlin, said one day to him, ‘ Religion is utterly . 
lost ; faith has no longer any basis to rest upon ; the 
hearts of our day are no longer moved, no, not even 
when they hear the marvels of the creation. Would you 
believe it, I have presented this great doctrine before 
the minds of my congregation in all its beauty, in all 
its most poetic and marvellous points ; I have cited 


T 5 2 


The Honeymoon. 

the ancient philosophers, and even the Bible. Would 
you believe it ? Half my congregation listened to me 
unmoved, and the other half either went to sleep or 
left the church/ 

“ ‘ J)o next time what I am going to propose to 
you,’ answered Euler, ‘ instead of describing the world 
as did the Greek philosophers, or the Bible, describe 
it as the astronomers do, lift the veil that conceals the 
universe from their eyes as the religious descriptions 
have done. In the sermon heard with so much in¬ 
difference, I suppose you made of the sun a body equal 
to the Peloponnesus, as does the doctrine of Anax¬ 
agoras. Well, next time, tell your congregation that, 
according to exact measurements, our sun is one 
million four hundred thousand times larger than the 
earth. 

“ * I suppose you have also spoken of heavens of 
glass. Say that they exist no longer in the immensity 
of space wherein the stars move. The planets, accord¬ 
ing to your explanation, onty differ from the stars in 
size and movement. Tell them that they are worlds, 
that Jupiter is one thousand four hundred times 
larger than the earth, and Saturn seven hundred 
times. Describe the wonders of its rings, and speak 
of the number of moons that those worlds possess. 

“ Speaking of the stars, do not cite distances ; such 
high numbers as you would be obliged to use would 
not be appreciated. Take light as a scale of velocity, 
say that it travels seventy thousand leagues a second ; 
add to this that there is no star whose light comes to 


The Roman Catholic Church. 153 

us in less than three years ; that there are some 
whose light takes at least thirty years in traversing 
the space that divides them from us. Passing from 
these true statements to those that are very probable, 
say to them that the greater number of stars would 
be visible several millions of years after their disap¬ 
pearance from their place in space, because the light 
that comes from them takes millions of years in 
coming to our earth.’ 

“ Such was, in a few words, with the modification 
of some numbers only, the advice that Euler gave 
to his friend, and which he followed. Instead of the 
world of fable and the Bible, the priest taught the 
world of science. Euler awaited his friend im¬ 
patiently. He arrived at last with his eyes cast 
upon the ground, and in a state that indicated des¬ 
peration. The great mathematician, astonished, 
exclaimed, ‘ Great God, what has happened ? ’—Ah ! 
Mr Euler/ said the minister, £ I am the most unfor¬ 
tunate of men ! they have forgotten the respect they 
owed to the holy Church ; they have become excited, 
and they have . . . applauded me.’ 

“ This simple story, Conchita, tells you plainly 
the sentiments of modern times. The Germans slept 
during the Catholic sermons, but they applauded the 
scientific discourses. The world of science was much 
grander than that of the church, and its teachings 
belonged to the age, while those of the priest belonged 
to a past civilization. 

“ From this want of harmony proceeds the degene- 



1 54 


The Honeymoon . 


ration in which we find the church to-day. The 
great men of the times, the great politicians, philoso¬ 
phers, and men of science do not, in their hearts, 
belong to any of the Christian churches. 

“ The great men of ancient Rome were not Pagan, 
although this was the religion of their country ; they 
were too much advanced for that. Christianity 
came, and, as late as the eighteenth century, all the 
great men and philosophers sustained the church. 
Solis, Fray Luis of Granada, Luis of Leon, Bacon, 
Newton, La Place, Pascal, and Leibnitz were de¬ 
fenders and sustainers of the Christian church, 
because this was on a par with their intelligence. 
But to-day, is the Church of Rome, or that of Russia, 
or even those of Germany and England, sustained by 
the philosophers or great men of the age ? No, nor 
Humboldt, nor Littre, nor Von-Buch, nor Vogt, nor 
Stuart Mill, nor Lessing, nor Kant, nor Sir Humphrey 
Davy, nor Hegel, nor Goethe, nor Byron, nor Schiller, 
nor Fichte, nor Guilmain, nor Flammarion, nor 
Figuier, nor Michelet, nor Boucher de Perthes, nor 
Victor Hugo, no, not one of the great men of modern 
times is, or was, what the church would call a true 
Christian. 

“ From hence comes the great lack of religion that 
we experience at every movement. The greater part 
of the people, it is true, content themselves with the 
religion taught in the churches, although the} 7 " may 
sometimes pause and reflect after reading some 
scientific work, but when one thinks about the truth 


The Roman Catholic Church . 155 

of their teachings, when one dares to lift that sacred 
veil that hides from the world the unfitness of their 
belief, and which is wrongly called faith, then one 
sees plainly enough the backwardness and the mockery 
of this religion. How different is the Christianity of 
modern times from that simple but sublime doctrine 
taught by Jesus on the Mount of Olives ! Rome 
has always covered her shortcomings with the pomp 
of her ceremonies, for the court of the Vatican, that you 
are taught to believe in as a holy and divine institu¬ 
tion, is but a weak and miserable political hole. The 
church needs the state to sustain its truths. Ah ! 
if it had not been for French guns, she would long ago 
have been obliged to fly from Rome. The faith of 
the people was not found enough to sustain the Papal 
throne, no, nor even their cannons ! Rome is no 
longer what she was once, and her policy has also 
changed. But if it has changed, it is only because 
she can no longer command men’s consciences as 
before ; the people would rise in a mass, and would 
destroy the tyrant. One cannot now play with im¬ 
punity with the lion of the populace. The clergy 
know it, and think it better to amuse him, while 
they endeavour to chain him anew. The church is 
as intolerant in reality as ever she was, and if she 
could, this ver}^ day she would exterminate all those 
who believe in other religions contrary to her own. 

“ This is the case with all Churches, just as much 
in the Christian, as in the Mussulman, Budhist, and 
Brahmist, the general tendency of them all is to bind 




156 The Honeymoon. 

the minds of the people, and to make them slaves of 
their will. Power is the magnet that attracts them 
all, and to obtain it they would not mind destroying 
everything that comes in their way, for is it not 
destruction to bind down and fetter human thought 
and understanding, which God made to be free ? 

“ Christianity in its actual state cannot be a lasting 
religion ; for its doctrines are opposed to the conscience 
and to the morals as well as to science. Its object is 
not to make men better, nor to advance the civilisation 
of the world ; its desires are not the happiness of 
humanity here or hereafter. According to the doc¬ 
trines of the Church itself, religion serves only to 
appease the anger of God, to liberate man from the 
devil, and to save him from hell. Human reason 
refuses to believe in the anger and injustice of God ; 
our conscience tells us there can be no personal devil 
in the universe, and science destroys the idea of a hell 
of fire. Now, if those doctrines are false ; if the anger 
of God, the existence of the devil, and the belief in a 
hell are unfounded, and impossible doctrines ; what 
is the use of this Church % 

. “As religion is represented in opposition to reason 
and to nature, it is not to be wondered at that so 
many people abandon all kinds of religion, and be¬ 
come atheists. At least, they say, atheistic views 
'pretend to be philosophical, while the Catholic ones 
are against reason and common sense. Pantheism, 
that holds nature as God, is a much more natural 
and philosophical belief than the Catholic one, which 


The Roman Catholic Church . 157 

represents its God with the passions and the propen¬ 
sities of a demon. The atheists are at least more 
philosophical than the Christians, for these acknowledge 
th ree gods and fear the power of a fourth, the devil; 
and the Catholics, moreover, worship an enormous 
list of virgins, saints and angels, a kind of smaller 
gods who exercise a miraculous hut limited power 
upon the world, as did the gods of the Grecian 
mythology; while the others, although they deny 
the existence of one God, recognise in His stead 
the universal laws of nature. You know too well, 
however, dear Conchita, my opinion concerning 
atheistic doctrines, for me to enlarge on them now, 
in proving to you their utter falsity, and how much I 
despise and pity them ; but I only say this to let you 
see how utterly unphilosophical the doctrines of the 
Catholic religion must be when I even venture to 
contrast them with such. 

“ But I must go on with my criticism. The God 
of your Church, Conchita, does not govern the world 
by means of natural and constant laws, but by miracles 
and a supernatural power, infringing upon and stop¬ 
ping the action of the established laws whenever He 
pleases. Thus the prayer of a poor mortal can change 
the order of the universe, and the faith of a man can, 
as it has done once, stop the sun and the moon in the 
middle of their course.* 

“ The God of the Christians is not omnipotent, as 
some who knowing the doctrines taught in the Bible 


* Joshua x. 13. 


158 The Honeymoon. 

still dare to assert.* It is also quite a mistake to say 
that He is eveiywhere ; for, according to the Churches, 
He is only to be found in heaven and in the temples, 
in spite of what David said in his 1 39th Psalm. Ac¬ 
cording to the priests, however, God only lives in 
heaven, and comes down to earth sometimes, but this 
only in the churches. He is never present anywhere 
else. This idea is a very old one, and, I suppose, is 
derived, like all others, from the Bible, where we hear 
Him say, ‘ I have chosen this place to myself for a 
house (the temple). . . . Now mine eyes shall be 
open, and mine ears attend unto the prayer that is 
made in this place. For I have chosen and sancti¬ 
fied this house . . . and mine eyes and mine heart 
shall be there perpetually;’*)* where He ‘ came down to 
see the city and tower of Babel and where, we are 
told, He descended upon Sodom and Gomorrah, saying, 

* Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and 
because their sin is very grievous, I will go down and 
see whether they have done altogether according to the 
cry of it, which is come unto me ; and if not, I will 
know;’§ and where we are told that ‘Adam and his 
wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God 
amongst the trees of the garden.’|| 

“ This doctrine may be very ancient and very Biblical, 
but it does not suit modern science, which needs a God 
present in all parts, and who does not need to go up 
or come down in order to see the works of men, nor 

Judges i. 19, etc. + 2 Chronicles vii. 12-16. J Gen. xi. 5. 

§ Gen. xviii. 20, 21. || Gen. iii. 8. 


The Roman Catholic Church. 159 

to lead them for forty years in the wilderness, in order 
to ‘know what was in their hearts.’* The actions of 
this God are moreover interested, and proceed only 
from His desire of glorifying Himself. How mean is 
this idea of the Deity compared with the words of 
Lord Byron, ‘ From the far distant archipelago of stars 
to the tranquil lake that kisses the feet of the moun¬ 
tain, everything partakes of an intense life, in which 
there is not a ray, a breeze, a leaf, that does not owe 
its existence to the great Creator ! ’ 

u ‘ Oui, c’est un Dieu cache que le Dieu qu’il faut croire; 

Mais tout cache qu’il est, pour reveler sa gloire, 

Quels temoins eclai'rants elevant moi resembles ! 

Repondez, cieux et mers ; et vous, terre, parlez! ’ 

as said Racine; or, as your great poet Melendez 
Valdes expresses it, in his beautiful poem, ‘ La pre- 
sencia de Dios : ’ 

“ ‘ Doquiera que los ojos 

Inquieto torno en cuidadoso anhelo, 

Alii gran Dios, presente 
Atonito mi espiritu te siente. 

• • • • • 

Tu inmensidad lo llena 

Todo, Senor, j mas, del invisible 

Insecto al elefante, 

Del atomo al cometa rutilante.’ 

“ Yes, my beloved one, the worlds that the telescope 
opens before our eyes, showing us the sidereal regions, 
as that discovered by the microscope in a drop of dew, 
all breathe life; from the colossal globe of Sirius, 


* Deut. viii. 2. 


160 The Honeymoon. 

whose diameter is of 4,500,000 leagues (twelve times 
larger than our sun), to the infusoria, microscopic 
animalcule, ten millions of which do not take more 
room than a grain of corn, everything gives testimony 
of the supreme power and of the omnipresence of God. 
And can we believe, after this, in what the Church 
reveals to us about Him, and which would make Him 
so small in our eyes ? 

“ Science cannot recognise a limited and local God. 
It proves to us, on the contrary, that God is uniform 
and perfect, just and good, and that He governs the 
universe by means of determined and constant laws. 
Astronomy reveals to us the immensity of space, the 
infinity of the universe, the myriads and myriads 
of worlds that move in it, all governed by in¬ 
fallible laws, established by the Supreme Creator. 
Natural history and geology relate to us the history 
of the earth, and show to us its smallest inhabitants, 
of which some are so minute, that 10,000 could be 
ranged on the length of an inch ! And certain species 
are so small, that their wdiole bodies do not equal the 
1500th part of a millimetre, about the forty-fifth 
thousandth part of an inch ! Every drop of water 
contains in itself more inhabitants than there are in 
the world, and every grain of dust is peopled by 
millions of animalcule ; the very air we breathe is 
full of its minute creatures, and some of these can 
produce in four days more than 150,000 millions of 
their species ! The divine creation knows no end. 
Could its Divine Author be a jealous and angered 


The Roman Catholic Church. 161 

God, who delights in the sufferings of His children ? 
No, science will never recognise such a God. 

“ Science denies this wrong idea of the Creator, 
because it is against philosophy, philanthropy re¬ 
jects it because it is immoral and wicked. So 
it is not so much to be wondered at, that many 
adopt the doctrines of Comte, thinking his teach¬ 
ings more elevated and reasonable than the Chris¬ 
tian polytheism of St Augustine and St Thomas of 
Aquinus. 

“ Let us examine the dogma of immortality as it has 
been, and is taught by the Church. 

“ If what the theologians of Rome tell us respecting 
the immortality of the soul were true, this law would 
undoubtedly be the greatest malediction that God 
could impose upon His children; annihilation itself 
would be preferable. According to them, very few 
indeed are those who are saved at all, and even those 
few must pass through the hell-like torments of 
purgatory ; all the rest are sent to hell, where they 
suffer for evermore—and this, in almost every case, 
not because they have sinned, but simply because 
they did not belong to the only Church that could 
save them. 

“ At the present day, according to your great geo¬ 
grapher, Sanchez de Bustamante, there are one thou¬ 
sand one hundred and forty-five millions of men in 
the world, of which only two hundred millions are 
Catholics, and therefore the only ones who can have any 
chance whatever of being saved: this according to t^e 
I. L 


162 


The Honeymoon . 

Catholics; for, according to the Protestants, that 
number does not exceed eighty-five millions (which 
is more or less the number of their faithful) ;* all the 
rest of humanity goes to hell, good and bad—and 
this without counting the poor wretches who died 
before Christ’s time. But besides this, even the 
Catholics must be first elected by the Father, loved 
by the Son, and blessed by the Holy Ghost, before 
they can enter the kingdom of God, of which St 
Paul said we are all heirs, ‘ co-heirs of Christ.’ This, 
in round numbers, comes to be, that only one of 
every one hundred thousand men that live this day 
in the world will ever be saved. 

Some priests tell us that one of the pleasures, per¬ 
haps the greatest, of the reclaimed will be to see the 
sufferings of their brethren amidst the fires of hell. 
According to St Augustine and the greater part of 
the fathers of the church, also according to Calvin 
and his followers, this eternal torment will add glory 
to God, and will teach his faithful how thankful they 
ought to be to his mercy, wdien they see themselves 
happy, and in heaven; while their neighbours and 
friends, and even their very children, who were not a 
bit worse than themselves when on earth, are con¬ 
demned to eternal sufferings in hell. 

How a good man can find pleasure in seeing his 
friends, his family and even his children suffering 
eternal torments, and how he can have a heart after 
this to thank God for his justice, I leave it to the 

* Gecgrapkia General. Bustamante. Madrid, 18G4. 



The Roman Catholic Church. 163 

great theologians to explain. I, myself, can conceive 
of no man bad and inhuman enough to act and feel so 
barbarously. 

“ You talk of free will and of our intelligence, but 
you forget that the church does not allow us to think 
for ourselves, and teaches that she alone is the soul of 
Christianity ; that we must all think and do as she 
bids us, without making use of our own free will and 
intelligence : the priests alone are authorized to 
preach religion and morality in Catholic countries, 
but they certainly are not the first to practice what 
they preach, and are generally quite as ignorant 
and as faulty as the rest of the population. Chris¬ 
tianity, the priests tell us, obliges us to sacrifice 
everything to the dogmas of the church : ‘ Out of the 
church of Christ there is no salvation.’ Thus, 
making people afraid of God and of his anger, and 
afraid of the devil and his hell, the church establishes 
herself as the only arbitrator of our fates; if any one 
wants to be saved, he has only two things to do, to 
have many masses said for his soul, and to leave all 
his money when he dies to the Church. The natural 
result of this is, that now-a-days by far the greater 
part of Christians pay the church to think for them, 
to do penance for them, and to save them in the last 
day. Thus the wicked are not afraid of hell. They 
pay the priest, they sustain the church of Christ with 
their gold, and he cannot do less than pardon their 
crimes, and charge this church to excuse their conduct 
before the world, and even before pod himself. 


164 The Honeymoon. 

Could tlie church possibly condemn, or even blame 
the conduct of a man and a Christian, when she is 
sustained by his gold and his influence ? No ; she 
could not afford to do this, it would be against her 
own interests ; she must tolerate the vices of her 
faithful, as Rome tolerated anciently the villainous 
conduct of the Knight Templars who defended her 
rights. How could she refuse twenty mistresses to a 
man who renounced a wife to serve her ? This is 
the case to-day. The wicked man does not fear the 
devil, nor even doubt of his own salvation, while a 
hundred pounds remain in his pocket with which to 
buy absolution. The church is not in a state to be 
able to refuse it to any one, no, not even to those 
who call themselves her most faithful servitors ; and 
therefore, she must conform herself with the conduct 
of those on whom she leans for support. 

“ A great many weak and corrupted spirits shrink 
from religion during the whole of their lives, and they 
Hugh at it, while they think themselves far away 
from hell; but when they feel their last moment ap¬ 
proaching, they send for the confessor, they repent, 
they generously pay the Church the debts contracted 
during their lives with the money they no longer need, 
and in five minutes are changed into beings of angelic 
purity, and may count the next moment upon heaven 
as their everlasting home. Thus, we may sow a life¬ 
time of sin, and, according to your church, reap an 
eternity of happiness ; sow to the flesh and reap life 
everlasting. This, I must say, is very convenient, but 


The Roman Catholic Church . 165 

I scarcely need tell you that it is very far from being 
in conformity with the religion of Jesus! The greater 
part of Christians, however, are cowards, and are afraid 
that death may come when least expected ; they are, 
therefore, always ready to pay a part of the price of 
their salvation. I suppose they find this an easier 
and cheaper method, but in the end it comes to very 
much the same thing—gold is in every case the key 
to heaven’s door. 

“ This happens in every church, although in some 
the ways are different, but the end is always the same. 
If it were not for this conduct, which, after all, is but 
natural on the part of men, no church could subsist; 
no one would go to their services, no one would be¬ 
lieve in their dogmas, and no one would pay their 
priests and ministers. By far the greater number of 
Christians are so only under these conditions, and go 
to church not because they love God, but because they 
fear the devil. You see, my dear, that however often 
the priests have told you that the Church is the 
Church of the blessed, they are sadly mistaken, for 
what can be more false and injurious than the doc¬ 
trines she teaches ? 

“ By far the greater part of the iniquities and atro¬ 
cities practised upon mankind now-adays have their 
origin in the doctrines of the Church ; her very mini¬ 
sters themselves give us the example. If the Church, 
purported to have been established by God himself to 
teach men the best road to heaven, tolerates and for¬ 
gives those atrocities, who is to condemn them ? The 
law punishes, but cannot teach the consequences of vice. 



i66 


The Honeymoon. 


The Church says that her office is to save men from 
the anger of God, for this an absolution or a plenary 
indulgence from Rome is enough. But it is not 
enough ; our own conscience tells us that it is not 
enough. Sin must have its punishment, crime and 
penalty are cause and effect. I cannot drink intoxi¬ 
cating drinks, and another get drunk for me ; I can¬ 
not take poison, and another die for me ; I cannot sin 
and Christ suffer the penalty for me. Does any one 
believe that after death one remains so perfect, so 
wise, and so good, that he can enter at once into 
celestial happiness, even if during one’s life one has 
been most exemplary, can any of us feel that we 
are capable of heaven ? No ; priests know very well 
that this is impossible ; a moment’s repentance cannot 
wash away the stains of a whole life-time of sin ; no 
absolution from Rome can change the nature of man. 
If he is a sinner, he must first learn the consequences 
of sin by experience before he can give it up, and then 
he must learn and accustom himself to do good before 
his former sins can be washed away and forgiven. 
Years are necessary to operate this change, and only 
experience and expiation can work it. Could the 
spirit of a Tropmann be changed all of a sudden into 
that of a St Vincent de Paul ? Who can imagine that 
the soul of Mrs Manning can be changed instantly 
after death so as to become as pure and as holy as 
that of Mrs Fry? In this world we take very good 
care not to give an important post to a villain because 
he comes on his knees to us saying that he repents of 


The Roman Catholic Church . 167 

his past conduct. Repentance is of no avail in a 
court of justice. Why should it be otherwise in 
heaven 1 The moral laws surely cannot be less strict 
there than they are here ? 

“ But this is not the only evil caused by this 
theology; it also stops the progress of humanity in 
many other respects. The Churches, particularly those 
of Rome and Greece, are opposed to the education of 
mankind ; their object is not to instruct and make 
humanity better, but to save it from God’s anger and 
the fire of hell ; for this the more ignorant the people 
are the better. To reach heaven it is not necessary 
to know the moral or physical laws of nature ; to 
know and keep the commandment of the Church is 
enough, they say, but they forget that there are other 
commandments as important as those given by Moses 
to his people. It is true that we do not want any 
masters to teach us those commandments, our reason 
would teach them ; but the Church wants to do away 
with reason, and, unfortunately, the greater part of men 
need some one to help them to keep these moral laws. 
All this is forgotten bv the Church. 

“ Theology, as taught in the churches, with its 
extraordinary doctrines concerning the creation of the 
universe, its government, and the laws of nature, and 

with its false ideas respecting God, man, and the rela- 

% 

tion between the two, cannot possibly be the religion 
of the philosopher nor of the educated man ; so the 
Church very naturally thinks it best to keep her 
people in the grossest ignorance. 


168 The Honeymoon. 

“ The Church and the Pope are the oracles of the 
Catholics, and they all must submit to their rule; the 
Bible is the oracle of the Protestants, and they must 
all believe in its infallibility. History denies the in¬ 
fallibility of them all, and tells us how one Pope 
contradicts another, and how wicked some of them 
have been ; it also shows us the innumerable errors 
and contradictions of the Bible, and its most doubtful 
origin. History, therefore, destroys theology, as all 
other sciences do, so that we must either believe in 
what we know to be untrue or refuse to admit the 
testimony of proved science. 

“ But it is not the revelations of science alone that 
are against those doctrines; our own sentiments are, 
or ought to be, opposed to them. 

“ The Church presents religion to us under such an 
aspect that I find it impossible for me to love and 
respect it; its ministers tell us to fear God, and they 
are right; they know very well that it would be im¬ 
possible for us to love Him such as they paint Him to 
us. Theology, with its irritated and jealous God, 
who punishes the sins of the fathers upon the children 
to the third or fourth generation, who hates them, 
who prefers to punish them for ever, and to curse in¬ 
stead of blessing them, with its poor and malignant 
idea of humanity, with its teachings about the mutual 
relationship of the two, and with its other numerous 
doctrines concerning the devil, hell, purgatory, absolu¬ 
tion, heaven, limbo, infallibility, and worship of images, 
is opposed to all human sentiments. And yet you 


The Roman Catholic Church . 169 

will say that there are a great many millions who do 
believe in Rome and in its doctrines. Yes, I cannot 
deny that, but whether they believe in them in their 
hearts, or only in outward appearance, I do not dare to 
say ; but there is one thing that I can assure you of, 
and that is, that the generality of them either ignore 
the natural and physical laws, or do not understand the 
nature of the doctrines they follow so blindly. 

“ The greater part by far of those who call them¬ 
selves Christians have no idea of the doctrines that 
their churches really teach them ; they follow them 
because their fathers did so before them, and because 
they have been educated in them since their earliest 
youth, and know no better ; for them religion is cus¬ 
tom more than anything else ; they go to church every 
Sunday and listen respectfully to sermons, but they 
never stop to think of what they have heard, nor 
what signify those gorgeous religious ceremonies they 
attend so regularly, if they happen to be Catholics. 
For this, the unknown language in which the divine 
services are performed, is their excuse ; as for the Pro¬ 
testants they believe that everything that is in accord¬ 
ance with their Bible is all right. 

“ But such a religion is anything but what it should 
be ; it cannot satisfy the enquiring mind ; men fear 
always to talk about it, and it is therefore a subject 
rarely discussed in polite society; what a good sermon 
we have had to-day ! or I wonder who will preach to¬ 
morrow ! are about as much as we ever hear any 
body say about this, the most important of all sub- 


170 The Honeymoon. 

jects. But the priests have made it an abstract and 
most melancholy subject; they have rendered it one far 
more to be dreaded than loved, and the consequences 
are that men are fast becoming less and less religious. 

“ This is not the fault of man, but that of the Bible 
itself. Beligion, according to the Old Testament, is 
not the elevation of man, but the worship of the 
Deity, and the rewards that it offers to those 
who follow it are the most worldly—honour, for¬ 
tune, money, a long life, a numerous posterity. In 
the New Testament the same idea is continued, with 
the difference only, that as experience proved that this 
theory was all wrong, for riches and a long life were by 
no means accompanied always by virtue and obedience 
to the commandments, the same as adversity was not 
always the companion of vice, the rewards and punish¬ 
ments were said to be reserved for a future state. 
Modern Christianity is accordingly based on this new 
idea, and it is therefore a religion almost as selfish 
and worldly as the Jewish. 

“ Moreover, as I remarked to y r ou before, besides the 
commandments of Moses and those of the Church, 
there are other precepts equally important, of which 
there is no mention made in the Bible. These moral 
precepts we are very often obliged to break, if we 
want to obey those of Jehovah. 

“ I could give you a hundred proofs of this if I had 
a Bible at hand, but I will nevertheless try to remem¬ 
ber a few to show you that I am right in what I say\ 
For instance, among men it is considered of the ut- 



The Roman Catholic Church. 171 

most importance to have a good name, and to be 
loved by every one ; but we are told in this book, 
‘■Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of 
you!’ (Luke vi. 26) and ‘Know ye not that the 
friendship of the world is enmity with God % whoso¬ 
ever, therefore, w T ill be a friend of the world is the 
enemy of God.’ (James iv. 4.) 

“ According to the physical laws, when one feels ill 
one should send for the doctor, and do all that is pos¬ 
sible to be cured. Well, it seems God is quite opposed 
to this. The Bible says that King Asa called the doctors 
when he was ill, and confided in the science of his physi¬ 
cians, and, on account of this, it adds, as a punishment, 
‘ Asa slept with his fathers, and died in the one and for¬ 
tieth year of his reign.’ (2 Cliro. xvi. 12, 13). Of a 
certain woman who, the New Testament says, ‘for 
twelve years suffered many things of many physicians, 
and had spent all that she had, and was nothing 
bettered, but rather grew worse,’ but straightway was 
healed through faith. (Mark v. 25-29). And there 
is this express injunction, ‘ Is any sick among you ? let 
him call for the elders of the church, and let them 
pray over him, anointing him with oil in the 
name of the Lord, and the prayer of faith shall save 
the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.’ (James 
v. 14). 

“Lawyers, according to the conventional interpretation 
of the Bible, are little better. ‘ Woe unto you lawyers ! ’ 
it says, ‘ for ye load men with burdens grievous to be 
borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with 


172 The Honeymoon. 

one of your fingers. Woe unto you lawyers ! ’ (Luke 
xi. 45-5 2).* 

“ The philosophers are not considered any better 
either. ‘ Beware lest any man spoil you with philo¬ 
sophy and vain deceit.’ (Col. ii. 8). 

“ Science is also said to be wicked and irreligious. 
St Paul said to the Corinthians, with contempt, ‘ The 
Greeks seek after wisdom.’ (1 Cor. i. 22). And to 
Timotheus, ‘ Guard thyself from vain babblings and 
oppositions of science, falsely so called.’ (1 Tim. vi. 
20). For 'knowledge puffeth up.’ (1 Cor. viii. 1). 

“ You see, my Conchita, that if we were to follow 
literally all the commandments of the Bible, the 
progress of humanity would stop. If science has 
flourished, it has not been because helped by religion, 
but, on the contrary, in spite of the Bible’s direst 
opposition. It is true it does not recognise any 
material necessities. According to its teachings, we 
ought to have nothing to do with doctors, lawyers, 
philosophers, men of science, &c., &c. But if religion 
can do without them because ‘its kingdom is not of 
this world,’ we cannot. 

“ You see now, Conchita of my heart, that this 
religion is not at all- adapted for our present state of 
civilization, for, as Christ himself assured us, none 
can belong to it unless he ‘ hate his father, and 
mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and 
sisters, yea, and his own life also.’ (Luke xiv. 26). 

“ The Christian religion, therefore, you see plainly, 

* Jesus probably meant the interpreters of the law of Moses.— 
Author’s note. 


The Roman Catholic Church . 173 

is only meant to save people from God’s anger and 
hell’s fire. But I have proved to you that God can 
never be angry, and that there cannot be such a 
thing as a hell of fire ; so this religion is perfectly 
useless. We do not want now to die of fright like 
little children, thinking about that God so much to be 
feared, and that dreadful bogie and his hot abode of 
flames. We want something better than this false 
fear, and this coward selfishness of the future that 
lies before us. Death is no longer a thing to be 
dreaded. We ought, on the contrary, to be taught 
to meet it confidingly, we ought to be taught to be 
good fathers, sons, brothers, and friends, that, when we 
die, we may feel assured that we shall be saved with¬ 
out the need of the prayers of the church ; and that 
what we call death is but the entrance into a far 
higher life—our last day on earth is really a birthday. 
If religion made men what they should be, what they 
were called to be, rest assured, my beloved wife, that 
at their death they would all see the kingdom of God. 

“ One example of the evil the church has done 
wdth her wrong ideas and teachings, is to be found in 
Spain. If it were not for Rome, who has impeded 
the progress and the instruction of the Spanish people, 
do you believe that Spain, your beautiful country, 
would have been in her present sad and fallen condi¬ 
tion ? Oh Conchita ! faith is all very well, but you 
should never trample down reason ; the heart ought 
not to be everything in the body, for the head has got 
its part to play in the constitution of the whole.” 



CHAPTER IX. 


FAITH AND KEASON. 

Conchita waited in silence till I had quite finished my 
long discourse, and then with a deep sigh she began. 

“I have heard with patience all your scruples and 
objections to our holy church, they, I must confess, 
do not prove to me that the church is wrong, but 
rather that you are very much mistaken in your 
ideas upon this subject.” 

I smiled and said, “My darling Conchita, if you could 
prove to me that I am mistaken in my judgment, if 
you could show me where I am wrong, I would most 
decidedly forget my scruples, and my doubts, and 
believe with blind faith in your religion, which I 
would be the first to defend, if I could bring myself 
to think its doctrines true.” 

“ I have yet strong hopes of your conversion, 
Walter, and if you would not doubt every thing, and 
ask the why and the wherefore of everything, I think 
I could make of you the most devout of Catholics. 
Doubt is a wide open door, by which one can arrive 
at the truth, or get away from it. For him who is 
in error, it is the first step towards the truth ; but 
for him who possesses the truth, it is a slope that 
leads to perdition. 


Faith and Reason. 


175 


“ You yourself said, that men who begin to doubt 
of the truth of their faith, finish by abandoning the 
church of God; but where to go ? their worldly 
reason has carried them thus far, but they want 
something divine to rest upon, they pull down in 
their hearts the true religion, and they finish by 
finding themselves all at once in a desert, with none 
to guide them. Yes, doubt is a desert by which God 
sometimes leads man to the promised land of truth. 
In this desert there is not one single fountain, not a 
single well, where the fatigued heart can quench the 
devouring thirst that consumes it, and get refreshed. 
There is not a plant which can put a stop to the 
horrible hunger that is killing him ; there is not a 
tree under the shadow of which the poor traveller can 
sit down and rest, or take courage to continue his 
weary journey. In this desert, as in those others of 
earthly sand, whose waves the wind revolves in every 
direction, the ground gives way under our feet, while 
intelligence is consumed by the burning rays of the 
sun of remorse and vanished hope. 

“ But you, my Walter, have reverence, although 

9 

you lack belief. You love your God too much not 
to pray to Him for belief. True, heartfelt religious 
sentiments are to belief and to religion what the 
radiant light of mid-day is to that uncertain bright¬ 
ness of the aurora, that seems to fight with the dark¬ 
ness of the night. God has given you reverence for, 
and faith in, Himself, Walter. You ought to be for ever 
thankful to Him for this great gift of His eternal mercy.” 

“ And He has also given me a guardian angel in 


176 


The Honeymoon. 

you,” I said, interrupting her, “ who is to guide me 
to that belief I so much need ; for which I shall be 
eternally thankful to Him.” 

Conchita smiled, while her beautiful eyes looked 
up to the blue skies to meet those of her Creator. 
She appeared divine in this attitude. Murillo’s “Con¬ 
ception ” would have looked material and earthly by 
the side of my beautiful Concepcion.* 

" I am pleased, indeed, 0 I 1 my husband,” she said, 
"that I have been destined by the Almighty to convert 
to the truth of His holy church, such a man as you.” 

“ It is impossible for me to prove to you the truth 
of the church doctrines, they can be felt, but never 
taught. I will try, nevertheless, to answer your 
scruples. As for the Bible, I can tell you nothing. 
I have never read it, its truths are too deep for me, 
as, indeed, they are for all of us, and for this reason 
the reading of it has not been encouraged by the 
church in Catholic countries. Yet I take it to be 
the word of God, and as such I respect it. The Pro¬ 
testants have tried to study it, and the consequences 
are, that they have abandoned the true Church 01 
God, and sunk into innumerable errors.” 

“ How can the Word of God,” I said, "lead people 
into error? The Word of God should agree with 
His works, it should be all true, and all just, and 
mighty, and good, as they are, and the more I read 
the Bible, the less I can comprehend how He, in all 

* Concliita is the familiar Spanish for the baptismal name of 
Maria de la Concepcion, an attribute of the Blessed Virgin, made 
so familiar by the beautiful paintings of Murillo. 


Faith and Reason. 


177 

His wisdom, could ever have written or inspired any 
one to write such a book.” 

“ "Let us leave the subject for the present, Walter. 
That you cannot understand the Bible is only a proof 
of what I have just told you. But religion, the Holy 
Catholic, Apostolic, and Boman religion is what I 
want to teach you. 

“ The word Religion expresses admirably the two 
fundamental truths of our faith. It tells us that we 
were separated from God, but that we are now, or 
can be, reunited and reconciled to Him. It tells 
us what we were, and what we are ; it teaches us all 
the religious history of mankind. Through Adam’s 
sin we were separated from God, and cast upon the 
earth, but through Jesus’ sacrifice we are reconciled 
again to our Maker, and can attain the glories of 
heaven.” 

“ I will not repeat to you again, my Conchita, the 
arguments which make me doubt of the truth of those 
two doctrines. I w r on’t tell you again how unjust 
the dogma of the fall of man appears to me, and the 
pretended law that all must suffer for the sins of one. 
I will not repeat anew the argument by which I can 
prove to you positively, not the falsity of the doctrine 
of Christ’s redemption, but the selfishness and in¬ 
justice of God, if this were true.” 

“ You may think whatever you like of this 
doctrine, but of its truth you cannot doubt, it is one 
of the mysteries of our faith ; it is, in fact, the basis 
of the whole religion,” said Conchita. 

I. M 


I 7 S 


The Honeymoon. 

“ I have read in the Bible,” I answered, “ in Mat¬ 
thew i., that 'Jesus shall save his people from.their 
sins ; ’ in 1 Tim i., ' Hear the word of the Lord/ ‘ This 
is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that 
Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners;’ and 
in Luke xix., ‘ The Son of Man is come to seek and to 
save that which was lost.’ But this seems to me to 
imply that if we believe in his doctrines we shall be 
enlightened, and saved from darkness, our souls being 
improved by his teachings, which undoubtedly were 
very much in advance of the age. St Peter said, 

' Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be 
saved.’ (Acts xvi. 31). Yes, saved from the sins we 
would commit if we were ignorant of his divine 
sayings, but not from the sins we have already com¬ 
mitted. As I have just told you, I hold it as impos¬ 
sible that a man can take poison and another die for 
him, as it would be impossible for a man to suffer for 
the sins committed by another man.” 

“ Yes for a man, that I grant you, but Christ was 
God Himself, and as such he was all-powerful.” 

“ In that I cannot possibly believe. If Christ had been 
God he would have said so, but, on the contrary, he 
said plainly, 'My father is greater than I” (John xiv. 
28), and he called himself the Son of man. How could 
the Creator be the son of one of His creatures, 
the cause produced by the effect \ It is impossible. 

" If Christ had been God, moreover, would he have 
said, ' If I bear witness of myself, my witness is not 
true’ (John v. 31) ? 


Faith a7id Reason. 


179 

“ Was Christ the God Almighty when he said, ‘I 
can of mine own self do nothing’ (John v. 30) ? 

“ Could Christ have been God when he said, ‘ Why 
callest thou me good ? there is none good but one, 
that is God’ (Mark x. 8). 

“ Was Christ the God omnipresent when he said, 
‘ I ascend unto my father, and your father, and to my 
God and your God’ (John xx. 7) ? Can any one ascend 
to himself ? 

“ Was Christ the God omniscient when he said, 
concerning the day of judgment, ‘Of that day, and 
that hour, knoweth no man, no, nor the angels which 
are in heaven, neither the son, but the Father’ (Mark 
xiii. 32)? 

“ No, Conchita of my heart, I cannot possibly be¬ 
lieve that Christ was God; if I had never learned 
mathematics perhaps I might have believed in this 
doctrine, but now nobody can persuade me that three 
make one.” 

“ Because this is a mystery of faith, and you can¬ 
not comprehend it, you will not believe in it! This 
is not right, Walter. You must believe in the teach¬ 
ings of Christ, if not, you cannot be saved ; and fancy 
how we should suffer if we were to be condemned 
after death to dwell in different places, and never to 
see each other again. Oh ! Walter, try to save thy¬ 
self, if it be only for my sake.” There was such de¬ 
votion, and so much love and tenderness in those 
words, that they made me shudder. “Even if the 
Catholic religion,” she continued, “ had not been re- 


i8o The Honeymoon. 

vealed by God himself, it would always be the best 
system of philosophy, and the most complete and 
sublime poem of the whole earth. In it alone we 
find the clue to the difficulties that have given so 
much trouble to the philosophers, and the solution of 
the mysteries, that they, with all their learning, have 
not been able to explain. Consult the philosophers 
about God, about man, about nature in general, and 
they will only give you doubtful, contradictory, and 
uncertain answers. To explain one mystery they 
will proclaim ten ; to deny a miracle, they will affirm 
a hundred more inexplicable and more difficult to com¬ 
prehend ; in order to evade believing in the word of 

* 

God, and in the doctrines of the Church, you will 
finish by believing in the words of man, and in the 
doctrines of a master. 

“ If you deny the holy mystery of the Trinity, be¬ 
cause you cannot comprehend it, and you want to 
believe only in a universal unity of creation, you will 
have to accept the even more incomprehensible mys¬ 
tery of pantheism ; for if it is difficult to conceive how 
the divine nature can be communicated to three diffe¬ 
rent persons, retaining, notwithstanding, the unity of 
the Godhead, how infinitely more difficult is it to ex¬ 
plain how this can be communicated to all beings, so 
different in their forms and so opposite in their actions, 
without losing the unity of action required in the uni¬ 
verse ! 

“ If you refuse to admit the existence of that ori¬ 
ginal sin, of which our whole lives and our present 


Faith and Reason. 181 

condition give so full a testimony, you will see your¬ 
self obliged to wander in absurd and incoherent hypo¬ 
theses, in order to explain where evil comes from, and 
how sin first appeared. For, before attributing its 
origin to the free will of the first man, and the temp¬ 
tations of the devil, you will establish its cause in God 
himself, thus making Him God and devil all in one. 

“ The dogma of the incarnation will appear to you 
unphilosophic, and therefore inadmissible; and yet 
philosophy teaches pantheism, a doctrine which is in¬ 
finitely more unphilosophical and contrary to reason. 
For it teaches that God is, lives, feels, thinks, and 
works in all, in each of the innumerable beings that 
make up the universe ; this comes from the necessity 
that humanity feels for the Christian dogmas, which 
so well satisfy the necessities of our intelligence that 
we cannot do without them, and that, when we deny 
their truth, we are obliged to supplant them by errors, 
which often are but absurd exaggerations of the very 
dogmas we want to pull down. 

“And you will see in everything the truth of this. 
Those who deny the redemption of man by Jesus 
Christ, are they not obliged to put in its stead the 
redemption of man by man’s own blood, and to sub¬ 
stitute brutal punishments for a heavenly forgiveness 
of all sins through Christ ? 

“ Those who accuse the Church of exercising too 
much power over people’s minds, are they not the 
same who want to control men’s wills ? Calvin, who 
accused the Church of burning people for their faith, 


182 


The Honeymoon. 

did he not also burn the Catholics because they did 
not believe in his heretical doctrines ? 

“ Of this I am convinced, Walter, that man’s mind 
never separates itself from the truth but to fall into 
error; truth is as a mountain, at whose feet is opened 
an immense abyss where all who wander from the 
right path fall into eternal damnation.” 

I took Conchita’s hand in mine, and after a second 
or so I said, “ It seems to me, my darling, that you 
have been running down pantheism instead of proving 
the truth of Christianity. I agree with you in almost 
all you have said, but because philosophers are wrong 
in believing in pantheism, I do not see that the priests 
must necessarily be right in teaching their dogmas. 
I do not see at all that Christianity is a philosophy, 
on the contrary, it seems to me to be most unphiloso- 
pliical; nor do I see that it solves all the mysteries of 
nature, for it establishes others besides, of which we 
have no need whatever ; for instance, the doctrine of 
the Trinity, that of the Incarnation of God, that of 
the virginity of Mary, and thousands of others. 

“ The mystery of the Trinity does not strike me as 
being one of so much importance, and it seems to me 
that if once one divides the person of God into three 
individualities, one can just as well divide it into three 
millions, for the unity of course is lost directly this 
division takes place. Neither do I see the necessity 
of believing in the devil because one believes in the 
existence of sin. Sin, as I have told } r ou before, is only 
ignorance of good. Sin proceeds from ignorance, the 


Faith and Reason . 183 

same as darkness proceeds from the want of light, but 
this state cannot last for ever. The sin does not pro¬ 
ceed from our forefather Adam, but from our inexpe¬ 
rience. And because I deny the existence of a devil 
I do not see in the least that I must make God the 
author of evil. Considering that evil is not an entity 
but a condition ; evil, in fact, is undeveloped good. 

“ You know very well, my dear instructress, that 
I do not believe in that absurd thesis of some philo¬ 
sophers, who maintain that the ceaseless production of 
plants and of all other living organisations is due to 
the fortuitous concourse of atoms, making thus, as 
you say very well, every living creature a part of 
God. And as I do not believe in the incarnation of 
the person of God in any earthly organisation, T 
neither believe in His incarnation in the person of 
Jesus Christ. I have also told you several times 
that I cannot believe that the sins of one are pardon¬ 
ed through the penance of another. You do not 
seem to approve of personal punishment, and yet how 
are sins to be forgiven if there is neither penance nor 
repentance on the part of the sinner ? The doctrines 
of Christ may help men to overcome temptation, but 
his death, glorious as it was, cannot serve as atone¬ 
ment for other people’s sins. 

“As I am not a Calvinist, I do not see the use of 
excusing Calvin’s conduct, but I cannot refrain, for 
this, from accusing the inexcusable conduct of the 
Church of Rome. 

“ I think I have now answered all the proofs that 


184 


The Honeymoon. 

you have put before me concerning the truth of your 
religion, yet, notwithstanding this, there is nothing I 
would like so much as to be able to believe in them, 
if it were only for your sake. But I cannot possibly 
believe in anything that goes against my reason and 
common sense.” 

“ Oh Walter,” exclaimed the poor girl, burying her 
face in my breast, “ if you only knew how much 
superior is faith to reason, you would directly 
forget your doubts, and believe blindly in the dogmas 
of our Holy Mother Church.” 




CHAPTER X. 


LOCH LOMOND. 

On Tuesday the 8th of July we were still in 
Dumbarton. 

Monday had been a horrible day, it had rained 
incessantly, and a thick Scotch mist had veiled every 
mountain and hidden every valley. The Clyde, how¬ 
ever, seen through the mist that rises from its waters, 
is infinitely more poetical than when the sun shines 
in all its glory over its smooth waters. This atmo¬ 
sphere that gives such a peculiar and mysterious look 
to the beautiful scenery of ancient Caledonia, and that 
says so much to the heart, is much more pleasing to 
the imagination than those sunburnt hills of the south 
which can only speak to the eye, and leave nothing 
for memory and fancy to dwell upon. 

How many sweet things can the imagination 
picture to itself in presence of this mysterious and 
picturesque scenery, and at the feet of those elevated 
mountains, whose tops are lost beyond the clouds ! 
and up whose sides these graceful wreaths of mist are 
for ever rising, discovering undreamed of beauties. 

But if this climate is so poetical, at the same time 
it is certainly most disagreeable. It is utterly impos- 


186 


The Honeymoon . 

sible to go out when all the waters of the neighbouring 
ocean seem to come down in gentle dew over our 
heads. I have witnessed rain storms in the tropics, 
and dreadful they were, too, while they lasted, but I 
have nowhere seen anything like this. The whole of 
the air seems to be impregnated with rain, and no¬ 
thing can stop its penetrating power. The Scotch 
people go out when it rains the same as when it is 
fine, they are so accustomed to their climate that 
they think nothing of it. But this is not the case 
with foreigners, and so, when they are surprised with 
a day such as this, they are obliged to remain in the 
hotel, which is most tantalizing. 

But I should not speak thus. Could time seem 
long when one is by the side of the being one loves 
best in the whole world ? 

When Conchita came out of her room to breakfast, 
she looked out of the window to examine the weather 
for a few seconds, and then she took her place at the 
table without saying a word. 

She looked so beautiful as she sat opposite to me, 
making the tea in the English style, that I could not 
but shudder when, in thought, I contrasted the bright 
and gay Andalusian skies with the mists and fogs of 
this gloomy-looking and cold Scotland. I accused 
myself of taking her away from her country, her 
family, and her friends, of carrying her away from 
her pleasant home and her sunny climate, to shut her 
up amidst the hills and lakes of this cold and damp 
north, that we so much love, but that must seem so 


Loch Lomond. 187 

dull and melancholy to those accustomed to live 
under the burning rays of a southern sun. 

I observed this to my young wife, but she soon 
dispersed my remorse. 

“ Walter/’ she said, “ is it possible you can doubt 
of my happiness when it depends so entirely upon 
yourself! Oh my husband!” she continued, whilst 
she encircled my head with arms that might have 
rivalled those of the Venus of Medicis, “ I should 
neither be a wife nor a woman if I did not consider 
myself happier at your side than anywhere else. And, 
after all, what have I lost! My country, its bright 
sun, its pure and clear sky, the envy of all the earth, 
my convent, my family, perhaps so ! but have I not 
gained a husband? ah ! what is all the rest compared 
to that? what is all the world compared to our love?” 

“ Oh, my sweet wife ! ” I exclaimed, as I caught 
her in my arms, “ those words have made me very 
happy. I so often fear that the time may come when 
you will weary of this new life, and pine away under 
these cold skies of the north, and when even my 
devoted love may seem to you too dearly bought, and 
but poor compensation for all you have left behind.” 

She quickly covered my mouth with her small 
hand, as, with a look of entreaty, she murmured, 
“ Oh, please, dear Walter, say no more ! your love 
dearly bought indeed ! what should I do without it? 
for it is the sunlight of my life, and could I not bask 
in its warm rays I should indeed pine away, even 
under the burning sun of Seville.” 


188 


The Honeymoon. 

“ You are right,” I exclaimed, moved by those sweet 
words, “ and it is not you who have lost Spain, but 
Spain who has lost you.” 

“ Now I am no longer Spanish, then,” and offering 
me a cup of tea she said, in English, “ Do you want 
sugar in your tea, my dearest ?” ' 

“Lady Carlton,” I answered, also in English, “tea 
made by your sweet hands does not want any sugar!’ 

After the breakfast I gave Conchita her English 
lesson. The progress she makes in that language ap¬ 
pears quite marvellous to me, when I think of the 
time that 1 took to learn Spanish ! 

The other day I left her for a few moments alone 
in the hotel, and when I came back I was told that 
my lady had gone out. This surprised me, for I 
knew too well how she disliked going out alone. 

Ten minutes after I saw her come in with a beau¬ 
tiful cigar case of Russia leather in her hand. 

“ See,” she said, “ I bought it all alone, and the 
man at the shop understood every word I said when 
I told him I wanted it for my husband.” 

Before leaving Spain la Seiiora de Vargas wanted 
her daughter to take lessons in English with a cele¬ 
brated master of that language well known in Seville, 
but I told her that I would take charge of her in- 
struction mvself; and so I have done since our mar- 
riage. It is so sweet to teach the one we love! 
Woman forms generally a perfect contrast to the in¬ 
docility and opposition that one has almost always to 
contend with in a child. Call a boy to his lessons, and 


Loch Lomond. 


189 


he will come against his will, or, more likely, he will 
pretend not to understand, and will go on playing ; 
she, on the contrary, is in advance of the hour, she 
loves to be our disciple, and engraves each of our words 
in her tender heart. She has faith, deference, and 
even respect for the knowledge of the one she loves. 
In a word, if she were not the beloved being, and the 
happiness of our hearts, she would at least, by her 
docility and her promptitude, be the best of scholars. 

Add to this, that she is only too delighted to pro¬ 
long this pastime that makes her feel so young. She 
seems so happy when she receives even this small 
boon at our hands! She is moreover sensible to the 
gentleness of her master, to his praises, and also to his 
scoldings. Contrary to the child, she is afraid of 
being scolded. If one is too severe to her, if one calls 
her “ Madame ,” she begins to cry, and she throws 
herself into the arms of her master. This finishes the 
lesson. 

I do not know if all women are like this, but such, 
at least, has been my experience with Conchita. 

The pious and, perhaps, bigoted Spaniard, accus¬ 
tomed only to the routinal lessons of the convent and 
the Church, feared sometimes to hear what she con¬ 
sidered my too liberal ideas, and my outspoken 
thoughts seemed always to hurt her quick but super¬ 
stitious imagination. Moreover, her mind, although 
most intelligent and well cultivated, was naturally 
timorous, and rendered more so by the kind of edu¬ 
cation she had received. 


190 . The Honeymoon. 

Sometimes when we were discussing a spiritual or 
a religious point, she would exclaim, “ Oh, how igno¬ 
rant I am ! I pretend to understand your ideas when 
I can hardly comprehend my own. When you want 
me to open my heart to you, when you ask me my 
opinion, I cannot express myself. . . . Then you com¬ 
plain and think me cold. . . . But this is not so. 
I have to sustain in my heart a continual warfare be¬ 
tween my religious belief and your advanced ideas ; 
this is too much for me. I cannot doubt of the faith 
of my parents, and yet I cannot contradict your state¬ 
ments, although they break my heart. Is it talent 
that I want ? or is it my tongue that will not utter 
my feelings ? . . . Oh, I cannot speak! . . . You 
who speak so well, Walter . . . convince me if }^ou 
can of the truth of your doctrines. I want to be 
yours in ever} 7 thing ; oh, yes ! instruct me, and place 
a soul in my bosom that may be elevated enough to 
understand yours, and that may teach me to love you 
as you deserve.” 

At last, on Tuesday, the 8tli, w^e left Dumbarton 
by the railway for Balloch. 

The morning presented itself dull and cloudy, and 
the Clyde was still veiled in a white but vaporous 
mist. The sun rose amidst clouds and upon a dappled 
sky, smiling in long blue streaks through a hazy 
screen. Conchita proposed that we had better remairf 
another day in Dumbarton, where we were so well 
lodged in the Elephant Hotel. “ It would be most 
tantalizing to see Loch Lomond on a misty day,” she 


Loch Lomond. 


191 

said. But as we had already lost so much time on 
the banks of the Clyde, we decided to continue our 
journey through the Highlands in spite of the weather, 
which, however, cleared up during the day. I sent a 
telegram to the proprietor of the Tarbet Hotel, telling 
him that we should require rooms for the night; for 
at this time of the year it is most difficult to find 
rooms in the hotels if. one does not write for them 
beforehand. A quarter of an hour afterwards I re¬ 
ceived the answer, also by telegraph. How grand is 
this invention, that carries our messages from one end 
of the world to the other with the velocity of thought. 
It seems to me that this is the greatest proof of man’s 
progress, and of his power over the earth. Men can 
never be grateful enough to Sir Benjamin Franklin 
for the great blessing he discovered for humanity. 
But in spite of the velocity of the electric spark, my 

message arrived too late, and we were obliged to con- 
© > © 

tent ourselves with two back rooms in the hotel on 
Loch Lomond, for all the others were already engaged. 

An hour later we descended from the railway at 
Balloch, a rather ancient town on the banks of the 
Lake. 

I asked one of the porters where the steamer was 
that was to take us to Tarbet, and he told me that 
the train conveyed the passengers to the shores of the 
Lake. We once more entered our carriage, and took 
our seats in it, but for a few minutes only, for we 
soon reached the pier where the steamer was waiting 
our arrival. 


192 


The Honeymoon. 


The first look that one casts upon this lake is 
always one of admiration. Before us we see an im¬ 
mense expanse of water, that seems to lose itself in 
the horizon between lofty mountains. At our feet 
the mirror-like waters glide before our eyes like 
clouds of gauze and gold ; and over these fair blue 
waters rise innumerable islands, green and fresh as if 
they had just come out of the water—a true archi¬ 
pelago of little islands. 

But who can feel, when reading a mere description, 
written with cold ink upon a blank expanse of paper, 
what passes through an impressionable heart when it 
contemplates the sublime spectacle that virgin nature 
offers to his view in those fair northern countries, 
where everything is harmony, melody, and poetry ? 
Who can describe this Mediterranean of the moun¬ 
tains, populated with islands so varied in their form 
and so different in their character?—some grave and 
majestic, covered with dark woods, that harmonise so 
well with the waters that surround them, reflected so 
perfectly upon their mirror-like surface ; others, even 
more sombre, consist only of rude rocks, on which 
vegetation has found as yet no home. Farther back, 
we discern others, 

u Like Highland maidens, sweetly fair, 

The snood and rosebud in her hair, 

Yon emerald isles, how calm they sleep 
On the blue bosom of the deep; 

How bright they throw, with waking eye. 

Their lone charms on the passers by.” 

What a sublime garden this is, where the soul is 




Loch Lomond. 


193 

transported with delight, and the eloquent beauty of 
which speaks to the hearts of all men ! 

Conchita leant on my arm ; and thus, side by side, 
we went on board the steamer. Almost all our fellow- 
passengers were tourists like ourselves ; and all, with¬ 
out exception, seemed struck dumb by the beauty of 
the scene before them. Exalted by its majesty, one 
is compelled to exclaim, as did Murray when he saw 
it for the first time, “ Where is the man who would 
not fight for such a country ? This land was not 
made for slaves. Look at these bulwarks of nature ! 
Every mountain head which forms this chain of hills 
is an impregnable rampart against invasion.” 

Loch Lomond is the largest of the sweet water 
lakes of Scotland, and, without doubt, the most 
picturesque and beautiful. Towards the south—that 
is to say, about the place where we were at that 
moment—it forms a kind of bay of more than five 
miles in width, studded, as I have said, with in¬ 
numerable isles, varied in form and character, but all 
equally picturesque and lonety. Towards the north, 
the surface of the water is prolonged, forming a rather 
broad gulf of nearly twenty-four miles in length. 

High mountains surround this lake, some of which 
rise to three thousand two hundred feet and more. 
To this topographic description one must add the 
varied effects of a wild and virgin vegetation; the 
beautiful little panoramas that one can distinguish 
between the mountains, and the golden clouds that 
cover their tops, together with the rising mist that 
I. N 




194 The Honeymoon. 

blends together the outlines, so as to make the shore 

O 7 

hardly distinguishable from the blue waters of the 
lake below. 

Such was the scene that surrounded us on all sides, 
and at each stroke of the engine a new panorama 
more and more beautiful unfolded itself before our 
sight. 

I had been in Scotland before, it is true, but I had 
never till then learned to appreciate the beauties of 
this wonderful country. Conchita, however, felt the 
power of its witchery even more than I did. We 
both gazed long, and with deep admiration, upon this 
matchless scene without uttering one word to express 
our emotions ; viewing it in silence, as though to 
break that silence would have broken the spell which 
had been thrown over our minds by the first look 
we had cast upon this wondrous lake. 

After a deep sigh, she exclaimed, “ I should never 
have thought that the earth contained anything so 
beautiful, so celestial ! oh ! this cannot be the world, 
this is paradise ! ” 

Now and then melodious strains, as those which 
proceed from an Eolian harp, came to our ears. Save 
this, all was silent around us, for the whole creation 
seemed spell-bound with admiration before such a 
magnificent scene. The silence was such that the 
smallest noises were distinctly perceptible. One 
could hear the silence itself, the distant murmur of a 
brook while running through the valley, the whistling 
of the wind over the mountains, the vaporous cascade 


Loch Lomond . 


195 


as it fell into the lake, the dew drops that fell from 
leaf to leaf, the twitter of the birds whilst they built 
their nests among the umbrageous foliage, their sweet 
songs, and even the soft breeze of the evening, all, all 
seemed to be singing a hymn of thanks to the Creator; 
and those varied sounds came to our ears, forming a 
sweet and melodious harmony that rose from earth 
towards the calm heaven above. 

Is there a melody comparable to the echoes of the 
mountains as they continually sound over the blue 
lakes of Caledonia? 

The steamer moved peacefully over the surface of 
the smooth water, leaving a long track behind that 
became wider and wider till it reached the distant 
shores on either side. 

Inch Murrin was the first island we passed. It is 
said to be the largest, and it certainly is one of the 
most beautiful. Instead of being a wild spot, as the 
greater part of the isles of Loch Lomond are, it is 
to-day a well-planted park belonging to the Duke of 
Montrose, in which the deer run to and fro with 
entire liberty. At its southern extremity we perceived 
the ruins of a castle, some old feudal residence of an 
ancient chieftain. 

After this island, we passed another, and after this 
another, and another, till we found it impossible to 
count them. And every one of those beautiful little 
spots of earth that vanished before our eyes like 
dreams of beauty in a midsummer night’s dream, or 
the romantic site of some old tradition, left its trace 


196 The Honeymoon. 

in the picture-gallery of our memory—never to be 
forgotten. 

In this, which can truly be called the land of 
poetry, every little spot, every wood, every isle, 
every mountain, has served as the scene of some 
w'ild or romantic legend. For this is the country of 
old traditions. In this island took place the great 
battle of Clairinch, so well fought by the Buchanans ; 
in the other, called Inch Chailliach, we can still see 
among the trees the ruins of the convent where Mary 
of Leith lived after the tragical death of her lover. 

On the shore, above a little rising ground, we can 
see still the celebrated Buchanan House, the seat of 
the Duke of Montrose, which has been the scene of 
so many romantic dramas. On the left bank rises 
the town of Luss, with its old castle, the last heiress 
of which married the Colquhoun of Colqulioun, after 
the most romantic adventures. Further on we can 
just perceive the plain where the battle was fought 
between the Macgregors and the Colquhouns in the 
time of James VI., Glen Flinn, if I remember 
rightly. 

On the right bank above Inversnaid and its pic¬ 
turesque waterfall, we find Rob Roy’s cave, a deep 
and extensive cavern, so celebrated in Scotch romance, 
but which from here is almost imperceptible to the 
naked eye. 

“Yes, slender aid from fancy’s glass 
It needs, as round those shores we pass, 

’Mid glen and thicket dark, to scan 
The wild Macgregor’s savage clan, 



Loch Lomond. 


197 


Emerging at their chieftain’s call, 

To foray or to festival; 

While nodding plumes and tartans bright 
Gleam wildly o’er each glancing height.” 

Loch Lomond is the spot where we find more tra¬ 
ditions and legends than elsewhere. There is not an 
isle, a vale, a mountain, whose name is not united to 
those of Ossian, of Oscar, of Wallace and Bruce, of 
Colquhoun, or of James V., and which does not re¬ 
mind the traveller of the wild adventures and heroic 
deeds of the heroes of old Caledonia ; and, above all, 
the daring Rob Roy, whom Sir Walter Scott has 
made so famous throughout Europe. 

“ Can you not relate to me some of those old 
legends,” said my beautiful bride, while she cast upon 
me one of her most lovely smiles. 

“ Yes, I will,” I said, “ if you sketch for me, in the 
meantime, the wondrous scene before us.” 

“ That I will with the greatest pleasure,” she 
answered, and, bringing out her sketch book, she be¬ 
gan drawing the outlines of the mountains, while I 
narrated the following story. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE BRIDE OF LUSS.* 

In that pretty little village that you see between the 
trees, at the mouth of a picturesque stream on the 
left bank of Loch Lomond, lived, once upon a time, 
many, many years ago, a young squire or laird, as 
they are called in Scotland. The entire village, con¬ 
sisting of a few cottages, an old parish church, and a 
large and, at that time, modern manor house, belonged 
to the laird of Luss, as James Colquhoun was called 
bv his tenants and neighbours. 

Since the time of his father’s death, a few years 
previous to the commencement of my tale, his pro¬ 
perty had increased prodigiously, and prosperity and 
plenty were enjoyed by all his tenants. 

Each time that the inhabitants of the glen raised 
their eyes to the manor house, which is situated on 
the slope of the Paps, a small range of hills culminat¬ 
ing in Cruacli Dubh, they blessed their kind and 
good landlord. 

Why so many blessings, and so much affection ? 
We shall soon learn this, if we listen to the conversa¬ 
tion of Fanny and Jessie, two young country lasses, 

* See Appendix, Note 11. 


The Bride of Buss. 


199 


as they proceeded on their way to the neighbouring 
brook, where they are going for water. 

“ Let us go quickly,” says the bonnie Fanny; “it 
will soon be twelve o’clock, for the sun is already 
nearly at the top of the kirk tower, and that husband 
ot mine is furious if he does not find me at home 
when he comes from work.” 

Jessie blushes, and, quickening her pace, says, 
“ And my father is also waiting, I forgot.” 

“ My husband, when he is working for the laird, 
hardly takes time to eat, he is so anxious to return to 
his w T ork.” 

“ That is just the case with father.” 

“ ft is true, Jessie, darling, that Master Colquhoun 
is worthy of it all; for while he lives there will be 
no poor people in the village.” 

“ You are right, Fanny; see how much he has done 
for us; last year we had not enough corn to pay the 
rent, and he not only forgave us that, but he even 
gave us corn to sow for the next harvest.” 

“ He did the same for us, and for all the villagers.” 

“ When this good master dies more angels will 
accompany him to heaven than there are stars to light 
the way.” 

“ May the Lord grant him a long life ; the day the 
laird dies heaven will dress in its best to receive him, 
while the earth will have to go into mourning.” 

“ The minister said last Sunday that, great and 
small, we all have some stain upon our conscience ; 
but I think Master Colquhoun’s conscience must be 


200 


The Honeymoon. 

purer than the water of this burn, for his only desire 
is to make every body happy around him.” 

“ How happy the lassie will be whom he marries.” 

“ And, as he himself said the other day to father, 
when he marries it will not be a rich woman, but a 
bonnie Highland lassie.” 

“ Well, Jessie, I think you are then the very one to 
suit him.” 

“ What things you do say, Fanny ! ” 

“ Do not blush for that, lassie, for the king of Scot¬ 
land would not be too good for our Highland darling.” 

“ Why, the Master, so handsome, so good, and 
so rich ! how could he ever think of me ? ” 

“ But he does, though, and not a little. The other 
day I was sitting at my door-step, sewing David’s 
kilt, when he came, and was just talking to me, when 
you looked out of your window opposite, and he said, 
‘ There is our bonnie Jessie Macgregor, the prettiest 
girl of the clan.’ ” 

The village maiden became as red as a poppy, and 
her bright eyes sparkled like two stars, lighting up 
her beautiful face. 

They soon arrived at the bottom of the hill, and 
Fanny began to fill her can with the fresh water of 
the brook that then, as to-day, fell in a cascade into 
the lake below. 

While she was doing this, the village bells struck 
twelve with their merry clang in their well-known 
tone. 

“ ’Tis twelve o’clock ! ” exclaimed Fanny. “ Good 


The Bride of Luss. 


201 


Lord ! and ray husband at home waiting.” And she 
began to run up the hill towards the village with her 
can, while her young friend was still filling hers. 

When Jessie’s can was in its turn full, she tried to 
place it upon her head, but she could not accomplish 
this. 

For the third time she tried, but with the same ill 
success; and, feeling her strength unequal to the task, 
she began to look towards the village to see if some 
one was coming who would help her, when all of a 
sudden she saw the Laird himself, who was coming 
from the mountain, whistling merrily as usual. 

“You arrive in time, Laird,” said the village 
beauty. “ Would you be so good as to help me with 
this can, it is so heavy? Will you kindly lend me 
a hand, Sir ? ” 

“ There is nothing I would not do to please you, 
my bonnie Jessie/’ 

“ You are laughing at me, Sir,” 

“No, I am not. Are you not the prettiest girl of 
Luss ? ” 

“ To how many have you said that already. Master 
Colquhoun ? ” 

“ Let us talk seriously, Jessie, my darling. I have 
often tried to see you alone, and, until to-day, I have 
always failed,” said the Laird, changing his merry 
tone for a more serious and decided one. 

Jessie cast her beautiful eyes on the running stream, 
and forgot all about the can of water, and her father, 
who was waiting for her in their little cottage. 


202 


The Honeymoon . 


“I,” continued the young man, “am rich, and, in 
spite of this, I am not happy; because, although I 
have all that money can buy, I feel I want something 
more ! ” 

“ Oh! what can you want, Sir — you, of all 
men ? 

“A heart that loves me.” 

“ There is not one in the village that does not love 
their Laird.” 

“ Well, that is gratifying, but it does not fill the 
void in my heart.” 

“ I do not understand you, Sir.” 

“ Jessie, my lass, that smile and that blush prove 
to me that you do understand me ; but, in spite of 
this, I want to express to you what I really do feel. 
At night, when I am alone in my old library, when 
day closes, when silence begins to reign over the glen, 
and the sun disappears behind the distant hills of Loch 
Long; when the bells of the kirk call the faithful to 
the evening prayer, and when I see the stalwart High¬ 
lander leave his fields, his scythe, and his plough, to 
return to his home, where, full of love, his wife and 
his children are waiting for him ; I feel in my heart 
a sadness which I cannot explain to myself. 

“ When I walk through the fields, so full of beauty; 
when I ride through the dark forests that lead to the 
head of the Loch ; when I row upon the blue waters 
yonder; when the birdies sing; when the sky is 
blue ; when everything becomes bright and beautiful 
at the breath of the Creator, who fills our fields with 



The Bride of Luss. 


203 


blossoms and our groves with song,—I feel the same 
sadness, the same anxiety, the same discontent, that 
I cannot express, and which I can only compare with 
that felt by the bird who is seeking a companion who 
will make a nest for him. Jessie, darling, I need a 
heart that will sympathise with mine own. Do you 
understand me now, my bonnie Jessie ? 

“ I have often watched you, Jessie; and I think 
that I have seen in you this same anxiety, sadness, 
and want of sympathy, or whatever it may be.” 

Jessie’s eyes brightened. “I cannot express myself 
as you do. Master Colquhoun,” she said; “ but I also 
feel what you describe.” 

“ And what is it, do you know ? ” 

“ Oh ! I do not know, Sir. How can a poor 
country girl like me explain what passes in her 
heart ?-but when one is young-” 

“ One must love ! ” 

Jessie became even redder than she was before, 
and fixed her eyes more and more intently upon the 
brook that ran at her feet. 

“ You alone, Jessie, darling,” said the young man, 
after a pause, “ can fill the empty space that there is 
in my heart.” 

“ Oh ! no, never, Sir !- 1 am so poor ! ” 

“ But I am rich. Will you give me your love for 
my love and my riches ? ” 

“ I will,” said the simple country girl, " if my father 

makes no objection-” 

But she said 110 more, for the young squire took 







204 


The Honeymoon. 


her in his arms, and, pressing her to his heart, hushed 
the sound of her words to his ear, which, however, 
reached his heart, where they remained engraved for 
ever. But not a word more was said on either side 
for a long time. 

A village girl who was coming to the burn for 
water put an end to this tender scene. The Laird 
helped Jessie to put her can upon her head, and she 
began to ascend the hill towards Luss. 

But while helping her to replace her heavy burden, 
he had managed to say to the pretty Jessie, without the 
girl who came for water, hearing him, “ To-morrow I 
will speak to your father-for I love you, Jessie ! ” 

Was Jessie pleased with the conversation she had 
had with the young Laird by the brook ? 

The only thing that tradition has been able to re¬ 
tain is, that when she arrived home, she passed the 
rest of that day in singing, and that the old cottagers 
agreed that they had never seen her look so lovely 
and so happy before. 

The next day the Laird sought out her father, 
who was cutting wood in the forest. 

“ Good day, Macgregor,” he said. 

“ Ah ! ’tis vou, Master.” 

•/ * 

“ Yes ; I am going to that old castle beyond the 
forest, that I am thinking about buying.” 

“ Do you intend moving to it, Sir ? ” 

“ No ; I was thinking of turning it into a hospital 
for the poor people of the parish.” 

“ Oh ! how good you are, Squire. Now, who else 



The Bride of Luss. 205 

would have thought of such a thing? You must be 
the happiest man on earth, Master Colquhoun.” 

“You have my happiness in your hands, good 
Macgregor. ” 

O O 

“ In my hands ! How so ? ” 

“ By giving me your daughter for my wife.” 

The end of the conversation thus begun was, that 
the old man and the young Laird fell into each other’s 
arms. 

Colquhoun tried to convince him that neither he 
nor his daughter ought to be in the least indebted to 
him, telling him that Jessie was worth more than all 
his estates put together. But all was in vain. 

That night there was not a person in Luss who did 
not know that their Laird was going to be married to 
the bonnie Jessie MacGregor. 

A whole year had passed since Colquhoun had 
asked of old Macgregor the hand of his daughter, and 
Jessie was still unmarried. 

And yet the young Laird was fonder than ever of 
the lovely country girl. 

Shortly after the scene I have been narrating, old 
Macgregor died; and Jessie, who was left alone and 
penniless in the world, did not want to marry the 
laird until the time of mourning had expired. 

Colquhoun had also been very busy in two works 
of the greatest importance—the founding of a hospital, 
and the restoration of the parish kirk of Luss. 

He wanted to add to the satisfaction that he would 



206 


The Honeymoon. 


experience the day of his marriage, that of having 
finished those two works; and he also particularly 
desired that the old village church, that was under¬ 
going repairs at his expense, should be opened with 
the celebration of his marriage with Jessie Mac¬ 
Gregor. , 

O O 

But in spite of these two great and holy reasons 
for delay, the villagers began to talk about the long 
forth-coming wedding of their laird. 

Let us see what was the subject of the conversation 
amongst the people. 

“ But, lassie dear,” said Fanny to Jessie one day, as 
they went together to the brook for water, “ now that 
we are alone let us talk about your wedding, that we 
have been so long expecting to come off*. Do you 
know that I should never have believed that the 
Laird would have acted as he is doing ? ” 

“ I do not understand you,” said the poor girl, 
turning very pale. 

“Why, Jessie, do you think it is right that, after 
having asked your hand more than a year ago, he 
has not yet married you ? ” 

“ If we are not married yet, it is because there are 
two good reasons for the delay.” 

“I do not say anything to the contrary, Jessie, my 
bonnie lass, and I should be the last person in the 
world to think badly of the Laird, but people will 
talk, and there are plenty who say that he never 
intends marrying you at all.” 

“ But that is nonsense; he loves me more than ever, 


The Bride of Luss. 207 

and you will see how soon all those idle gossips will 
be convinced to the contrary.” 

“ I think as you do, Jessie, darling, but you must 
allow that they who talk are not quite wrong in what 
they say, for when a rich and powerful laird makes 
love to a poor peasant girl, there is always plenty of 
evil to be said about it, even if the laird be a saint.” 

“ Never mind what they say of us, Fanny ; I can¬ 
not think badly of my poor James, for I know he 
loves me above all things.” 

“ I also know it, Jessie, darling, and I am con¬ 
vinced of his goodness ; but, in spite of that, I am not 
very well pleased with his conduct. We are all mortal, 
and imagine, my dear girl, if to-morrow the laird were 
to die, which I pray God will not happen, how would 
you be situated . . . now that your father is dead, 
and with nothing to depend on in the world \ You 
will remain with a stain upon your name that nobody 
could remove.” 

“ In that you are right, Fanny,” said the poor 
young girl, while tears came to her eyes. 

Days passed, and even weeks, and Jessie was gra¬ 
dually getting ill, for she could not forget what Fanny 
had told her the day they went together to the burn 
by the side of the wood. 

One evening Colquhoun, who was going on the 
lake fishing, called upon his intended bride, and told 
her that in eight days the church would be finished, 
and that they could be married. 

That night Jessie could not sleep for joy. 


208 


The Honeymoon. 

It was about eight o’clock the next morning, and 
Jessie began to wonder why her lover was so long in 
coming, for Colquhoun came every day at seven to 
the village, to superintend the repairs of the old kirk. 

She was looking from her cottage window towards 
the manor house that was so soon to be her own, 
when she saw a servant of the laird, who was running 
as fast as he could to the village. 

Jessie rushed to meet him, to ask him what was 
the matter, and she learnt with dismay that he was 
coming to call the priest and the doctor, for that 
morning they had found the poor laird insensible in 
the lake, and that he was now dying. 

Jessie ran as fast as she could to the manor house, 
but she arrived too late. 

Soon after, the Glen of Luss was a valley of tears, 
for its Laird was dead ! 

The sun had sunk below the horizon of the earth, 
but in heaven it still shone brightly. In the centre, 
in a realm of light and glory, was seen the unsleeping 
eye of God, which is as much as the most holy can 
see of the Almighty Creator. The multitude of 
angels without number were singing the glories of 
Diety, and Heaven rung with their perpetual 
hosannas. 

To this region of supreme glory was introduced 
the now free spirit of James Colquhoun. He had no 
need to plead for himself, for the Lord knoweth 
what passes in every soul, and out of the throne of 


The Bride of Buss. 


209 


light, where dwelleth the Invisible One, came a voice 
sweeter than the melodies of the angels, and more 
distinct than even the voice of his own conscience, 
which said,— 

“ Thou hast been a righteous man, thy prayers 
have been heard, and thou hast done good deeds 
upon earth, but into this region of eternal bliss none 
can enter but those who have no stain upon their souls, 
and thou hast left on earth below, a poor young 
maiden, friendless and alone, therefore thou mayest 
not come into the heaven of the pure, but he who 
chastises but from love will grant you a place in that 
region which men call purgatory, and which is but 
the porch of heaven. Go ! thy doom is cast.” 

The angels went on singing the praises of God, 
and the trumpets sounded, and tempests were heard 
below on the earth, roaring. 

The spirit of Colquhoun felt itself compelled by an 
invisible power to abandon the celestial sphere, and 
a moment after found itself stretched upon a rock 
overlooking a wild and horrible, but indescribable 
spot, not of earth, but rather of the realms of 
imagination. 

Time has no influence over the immortal spirits, 
and he could not tell how long he had been there, 
though it seemed to him as if ages of everlasting 
torment had passed over his head when a vision of 
purity and of beauty appeared before his sight. 

It was the blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of 
God, who was coming down to purgatory to console 
T. O 



2 TO 


The Honeymoon. 


the wretched spirits that were there, suffering the 
punishments of their earthly sins. 

Our blessed Lady beheld the spirit of the brave 
Highlander chained to a rock, and the demons lying 
idly by, for his remorse and his anxiety about his 
earthly love was more bitter to him than all their 
torments. 

The Virgin approached the spirit, and said in a 
sweet voice, which stilled his cry, for in what state 
are we indifferent to the pleasure derived from con¬ 
solation ? “ Wherefore, oh son of earth, art thou so 

tormented by thy conscience, that thy sorrow is more 
intolerable to thee than all the punishments of this 
place of retribution ? ” 

“ Because, Holy Mother,” answered the poor 
laird, I have left in my native Highland glen a 
virgin, pure and lovely, alone, and without pro¬ 
tection, who once loved me truly, and who now 
must mourn incessantly my death, for I know with 
what agony I should have mourned her had she died 
instead.” 

The Holy Mary, who still felt in her breast the 
pure flame of the once earthly, though now divine love 
which she had felt when in the world for her son, 
took compassion upon him; 

“ Thou hast been good and merciful when on earth, 
James Colquhoun,” she said, taking him by the hand, 
“ thy only fault has been punished enough already by 
the moral suffering thou hast undergone, for the sins 
of love carry their punishment with them. Thou 


2 I I 


The Bride of Buss. 

ma}^est return with me to heaven, there to receive the 
reward due for thy good deeds.” 

And the blessed Virgin raised herself upon her 
aureal of glory, and gently ascended towards the 
bright point in the distance which marked the 
entrance of heaven, while the penitents below raised 
their voices, breathing blessings and prayers, which 
accompanied her to her celestial sphere. 

The laird felt his chains drop from him, and he, too, 
ascended, without the least effort, to the celestial 
region. 

Once more he was in paradise, once more he saw 
the ever-watching eye of God, surrounded by the 
crowds of angels. But not even this glorious scene 
was enough to make him forget his earthly love ; 
while his beloved was unhappy, how could he be 
happy? And his constant cry was, “Jessie, Jessie, 
my darling, could I but see you again ! ” 

The divine and loving nature of the Virgin was 
touched. “ Can thy love be so great that not even 
paradise can efface it from thy mind ? I also love, 
oh my son, and my glory is the part I take in the 
love of others, how can I minister to thy sorrow ? ” 

The face of the spirit brightened up with joy. 

“ Grant me one favour, oh suffer me, Holy Mother,” 
he said, “ to return to earth, and to bring hither with 
me the soul of my beloved Jessie.” 

Then the voice of the Almighty was heard to say : 

“ Thou earnest to my presence with a stain, that, 
though small, prevented my granting thee a place in 


212 The Honey 7 )ioon. 

my kingdom, but thy love has saved thee, and thy 
prayer is granted. Return to the world and purify 
thyself there, with thy many virtues. Thy boon is 
to make the one thou hast left on earth, happy, live 
with her till the day of her death, and then thou 
mayest return with her to my presence, to dwell 
amongst the blessed for evermore.” 

Colquhoun suddenly felt himself plunged into 
the most profound darkness, and he thought he 
travelled through seemingly endless unknown regions. 
At last his wild flight ceased. 

A tear fell upon his cold cheek, and he felt a hot 
lip upon his. Life came back all at once to his body, 
and he opened his eyes. Two cries of joy were 
raised at that moment to the throne of God in heaven 
above. 

He was in his own room in the manor-house of 
Luss, and Jessie Macgregor was by his side. 

The inconsolable maiden had gone into the chamber 
where they had told her the body of her lover lay, 
and when she had pressed her tender lips to those of 
the corpse, the dead man had come back to life 
again. 

Colquhoun always believed that Jessie’s love had 
restored him to life, but the world, and particularly 
the doctors, said that he had only been in a swoon, 
but that he had survived an accident that might very 
well have cost him his life. 

Eight days after, the laird of Luss was married in 


The Bride of Luss. 


213 


the church rebuilt by him, to the beautiful Jessie 
Macgregor. After the wedding, he told the priest 
■who had united them, the wonderful story that I 
have been narrating. 

“ Son,” said the priest, “ all that you have told 
me has been a dream, the wanderings of a violent 
fever, for God is too high for there to be a com¬ 
parison between the things of heaven and those of 
earth ; but bless and thank Him who has sent you 
that dream, for with it he has given you a lesson 
which you must never forget. Who knows, if it had 
not been for it, perhaps you would never have 
married her who to-day is your wife, and if your 
dream might not have become a horrible reality ! ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


TARBET. 

“ I like that story,” said Conchita, when I had 
finished my legend ; “ it proves to us the power of love 
and its constancy, and that dream, although rather 
fantastic, suits my imagination, and is quite in accord¬ 
ance with my faith.” 

“ Why ? for the very reason that it is so utterly 
fantastic and wonderful ? ” 

“ Nay, Walter, do not laugh at my faith ; to the 
comprehension of the philosophers it is inexplicable 
how the voice of Jesus could have raised Lazarus out 
of his grave ; for the world at large it may also be 
inexplicable how the kiss of a virgin could give life to 
a corpse. I thank God he has placed me in the 
region of belief, above both the philosophers and the 
world.” 

“ You mtfy believe whatever you like of my story ; 
I have only repeated it as it was once told to me, for 
its truth, of course, I cannot vouch, but I tell you 
plainly, my darling, that it seems to me both absurd 
and impossible ; for the ways of God cannot be the 
ways of man ; but I accept it, because it proves to me 
that love can never die. 


Tar bet. 


215 


“ With life all other passions fly, 

All others are but vanity. 

In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 

Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; 

Earthly, these passions are of earth, 

They perish where they have their birth : 

But love is indestructible. 

Its holy flame for ever burneth, 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. 

Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 

At times deceived, at times opprest, 

It here is tried and purified, 

Then hath in heaven its perfect rest: 

It soweth here with toil and care, 

But the harvest time of love is there.” * 

Soon afterwards we went down into the saloon to 
dinner, after which we hurried up again on deck, 
where a troop of Highlanders were singing the famous 
chorus of Sir Walter Scott’s splendid lyric, “ The 
Gathering of Clan-Gregor.” 

“ The moon’s on the lake, and the mist’s on the brae, 

And the clan has a name that is nameless by day ; 

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich! 

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, 

Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo. 

Then haloo, Gregalich ! haloo, Gregalich ! 

“ Glen Orchy’s proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours ; 

Were landless, landless, landless, Gregalich! 

But, doom’d and devoted by vassal and lord, 

Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword! 

Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalich! 

“ If they rob us of name and pursue us with beagles, 

Give their roofs to the flames and their flesh to the eagles! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalich ! 


* Robert Southey—“ The Curse of Kekama.” 



216 The Honeymoon . 

While there’s leaves in the forest, or foam on the river, 
Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever ! 

Come then, Gregalich ! come then, Gregalicli! 

“ Through the depths of Lo.cli Katrine the steed shall career, 
O’er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer ; 

And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt, 

Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance unfelt! 

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich 1 ” 

This spirited song was followed by another, no less 
characteristic of the wild region in which we were at 
that moment. 

“ Hail to the chief, who in triumph advances! 

Honour’d and bless’d be the ever-green pine! 

Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, 

Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! 

Heaven send it happy dew, 

Earth send it sap anew, 

Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 

While every Highland glen 
Sends our shout back agen, 

Roderigh Yich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe!” 

“Ours is no sapling, chance sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 

When the whirlwind has stripp’d every leaf on the mountain, 
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. 

Moor’d in the rifted rock, 

Proof to the tempest’s shock, 

Firmer the roots as ruder it blows; 

Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 

Echo his praise agen, 

Roderigh Yich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe! 

u Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen-Fruin, 

And Bannochar’s groans to our slogan replied : 

Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 

And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. 

Widow and Saxon maid, 

Long shall lament our raid, 


Tarbet. 


21 7 


Think of Clan Alpine with fear and with foe ; 

Lennox and Leven-Glen 
Shake when they hear agen, 

Roderigh Yich Alpine Dliu, ho ! ieroe ! 

“ Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands, 

Stretch to your oars, for the ever- green pine ! 

0 ! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands 
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! 

0 that some seedling gem, 

Worthy such noble stem, 

Honour’d and blest in their shadow might grow; 

Loud should Clan Alpine then 
Ring from the deepmost glen, 

Roderigh Yich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe ! ” 

“ What a glorious country this is,” exclaimed Con- 
chita, when the song had finished, “ where the men 
are so brave and the scenery is so grand 1 I should 
never have believed that in such a northern country, 
far away from the chivalry of Europe, so much 
patriotism and so much character would be found.” 

The Highlanders then sano\ at the unanimous re- 
quest of the passengers, the well-known air of “ Bonnie 
Dundee.” When they came to the last verse, 

“ Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 

Come saddle my horses, and call up my men; 

Come open your gates, and let me gae free, 

I daurna stay langer in Bonnie Dundee,” 

the whole company joined in chorus. There is some¬ 
thing so true-hearted and so noble in those national 
lays, when one hears them amidst the picturesque 
scenery of their native home, it is impossible to con¬ 
trol one’s feelings, and the spirit of the least impres¬ 
sionable is carried away by them. 


2 l8 


The Honeymoon. 


When the song had finished we stopped at the pier 
of Tarbet, our destination. We were all sorry to quit 
the steamer, but the sun that, at that moment, was 
disappearing behind the distant hills of Loch Long 
told us that it was time to land. 

The Tarbet hotel is most beautifully situated in a 
little bay on the left bank of Loch Lomond, and from 
it one enjoys one of the most complete and striking 
views of the lake. In front of the hotel, on the other 
side of the water, rises Ben Lomond, the highest of 
the mountains of this lake, which— 

u Through shrouding mists looks dimly down ; 

For though, perchance, his piercing eye 
Doth read the secrets of the sky, 

His haughty bosom scorns to show 
Those secrets to the w r orld below. 

Close-woven shades, with varying grace, 

And crag and cavern mark his base.” * 

* Sigourney. 



CHAPTER XIII. 


A MOONLIGHT WALK. • 

Night was beginning to cover the landscape with her 
black and starry veil, and if the lake had seemed 
beautiful to us during the day, how much more 
so, did it now appear illuminated by countless 
millions of suns that shone upon it from distant 
spheres ! 

Night is the time for lovers ; its silent and 
solitary hours are by far the most enchanting, the 
sweetest and the happiest of our whole lives ; for in 
them our passionate hearts enjoy a more intimate 
communion with the being we most dearly love. 

A fresh and pure breeze came to us over the 
peaceful waters of the lake, refreshing us after the 
heat of the day, with its perfumed air. Conchita 
looked at me for a moment, and then she said, in 
those sweet melodious tones which belonged to her 
only, “ What a beautiful night, Walter. Would you 
not like to take a walk by the banks of Loch 
Lomond, and enjoy the silent charms of this hour in 
the open air ?” 

I was, of course, delighted with her proposition, 
and in a short time we went out of the hotel arm in 


arm. 


220 


The Honeymoon . 


It would be impossible for me to describe the 
glorious spectacle that Loch Lomond offers during 
those peaceful hours of summer, when the full moon 
lights up with silvery rays e;ich isle and each wave of 
this, the most enchanting of all lakes. Oh ! it would 
indeed be impossible for a contemplative soul not to 
admire so much beauty and so much poetry. The 
vault of heaven appears studded with millions of 
stars, that shine as so many islands of light upon an 
ocean suspended over our heads. Who can look 
upon them and then turn his eyes upon the earth 
without experiencing a melancholy sentiment, and 
without wishing for wings to direct one’s flight 

O G O 

towards them, and to mingle one’s self with their 
eternal splendour ? 

In front of us rose, as a giant, the colossal Ben 
Lomond surrounded by a thousand other mountains 
that, like courtiers, kneel before their king. The 
mist had now completely dispersed, and our curious 
looks could discover the farthest hills, that rise one 
above the other as a council of giants who are going 
to judge the world ; at our feet ran the waters of the 
lake, pure and crystal-like, reflecting each leaf, each 
crag, each mountain. A little farther we saw a green 
isle that brought back to our minds the fabulous 
island of Calypso. But this was an isle that Homer 
himself would have been at a loss to describe. For 
there is more poetry in nature than fable can imagine 
in its wildest dreams of fancy. 

The silver moon of July illuminated this fairy-like 


A Moonlight Walk . 


221 


scene, adding the enchantment of mystery to its 
many charms, for the light of the moon is infinitely 
sweeter than that which proceeds from the bright 
star of day. Orb of meditation and of mystery, 
it has ever been destined to inspire thoughts of a 
purer and far more poetic nature than the gorgeous 
sun, who with his ardent rays, burns the earth which 
he illumines. 

“ Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 

Hail, though the mists that o’er thee stream 
Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 

How should thy pure and peaceful eye 
Untroubled view our scenes below, 

Or how a tearless beam supply, 

To light a world of war and woe! 

“ Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta’s fairy side ; 

Each little cloud that dimmed thy brow 
Did then an angel’s beauty hide. 

And of the shades I then could chide, 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 

For, while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calmed my fear. 

“ Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was formed to light some lonely dell, 

By two fond lovers only seen, 

Reflected from the crystal well, 

Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 

Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night.” 

“ Yes,” said Concbita, when I had murmured those 
verses out of JRolceby. “ Yes, the moon must have 
been formed to light some lonely shore ‘ by two fond 


222 


The Honeymoon. 

lovers only seen.’ How much poetry and sentiment 
there is in her pale, cloudless beam, as the poets call 
it; and yet, did not another poet tell us that 

1 The devil’s in the moon for mischief ; 

.... There’s not a day, 

The longest, not the twenty-fourth of June, 

Sees half the business in a wicked way 
On which three single hours of moonlight smile, 

And then she looks so modest all the while.’ * 

“ Ah, the moon is very poetic, very sweet, but at 
the same time is so changeable, so inconstant! Does 
not this put you in mind, Walter, of our honeymoon 
that will so soon set upon our horizon?” 

“ So soon ! so soon ! Why, my Conchita, that 
moon which you have called of honey, will lighten 
our hearts for a whole eternity, and will continue to 
inspire us with constant love. Do you believe that 
our love could be so easily forgotten ? It is true that 
the moon will leave us at the end of the month, but 
she will appear anew at the beginning of the next, and 
then, if she be no longer called the moon of honey, 
she will be the same moon that has presided over our 
happiness.” 

“ How sublime, Oh night, is thy language ! ” ex¬ 
claimed Conchita, seating herself upon some rocks 
washed by the silvery waters, and seemingly paying 
no attention to what I had said, “ is it possible that 
there can be those who pass indifferent and careless 
under such marvels, and who do not even raise their 
eyes to admire them ?” 

* Lord Byron. 


223 


A Moonlight Walk. 

“ If night were deprived of stars/’ I answered, “ and 
earth had but one spot from which its numerous 
constellations and moons could be seen, the pilgrims 
to that wondrous sanctuary would know no bounds, 
and each palmer would come back praising its mar¬ 
vels and its wonders. But what we have constantly 
with ns, loses its value in onr eyes ; custom calms 
the most excited imagination, and we easily forget 
the beauties of nature, in order to follow things 
which are scarcely worth our notice. That which is 
of real importance has but little charm for us. Earth 
has the power of luring us in such a way that we 
easily forget even heaven for it, for we are indeed of 
earth earthly, as the great apostle said.” 

“ You are right, Walter, how often are we not 
carried away by what is but superficial, forgetting 
that which is of the utmost importance to our welfare? 
We put aside what should be most interesting to us, 
to abandon ourselves to that which in our innermost 
hearts we despise ! We praise the day, and we 
reckon the course of our lives by that of the sun, 
but how much more does our existence depend on 
the night; and how much more magnificent is it 
to our eyes ? The day has but one sun ; night 
has millions, whose brightness guides our progress 
through space, and carries our spirit straight into the 
bosom of the Almighty.” 

“ I am glad, Conchita, you think thus. Astronomy, 
of all sciences, is the one that teaches us our relative 
worth, showing us the relations that unite the earth 


224 


The Honeymoon . 


with the rest of creation. Without this science, as 
the past history of the ages shows us plainly, we find 
it impossible to know what we are, and where we 
are. Without it, we cannot establish an instructive 
comparison between the space we occupy in the 
heavens and the total of the universe. Without it, 
we ignore the true dimensions of our home, its nature, 
and even the order to which it belongs. Surrounded 
by the obscurity of ignorance, we cannot form the 
smallest idea of the general disposition of the 
universe. Darkness covers the limited horizon of 
our intelligence, and the human thought, incapable of 
elevating itself above the spectacle of every-day life, 
cannot, without science, overstep the small circum¬ 
ference drawn by the limits of the action of our 
senses. But when the torch of science lights up our 
path, the scene changes : the darkness that hid away 
from us the beauties of the horizon disappears, and 
the intelligent eye contemplates in all the majesty of 
a pure and cloudless sky, the immense work of the 
Creator. The earth appears as a globe turning upon 
its axis under the feet of man. Thousands of worlds 
like it move in space. The universe grows larger as 
the intensity of our look becomes more earnest, and 
the universal creation is then only appreciated in all 
its grandeur of design and beauty of detail. Science 
alone establishes the truth, and places before our very 
eyes the exact relation between the planet we inhabit, 
and the multitude of similar worlds which together 
compose the universe.” 


A Moonlight Walk. 225 

“ Do you then believe that there is more than one 
world in the universe ?” 

“ Of course, my darling Concliita, and all the 
modern astronomers have arrived at this conclusion. 
And it could not be otherwise. Life is universal, 
and the spiritual spark which constitutes our souls is 
to be found everywhere, just as much in the earth 
we tread, as in the air we breathe. If we analyse 
the smallest clod of earth, or the most microscopic 
grain of dust, we invariably find in them a small 
universe of life, a little world where everything lives, 
everything propagates itself; all the earth is popu¬ 
lated with little organic beings which are not less 
real, because on account of their small size, they escape 
our sight. 

“ Even the air we breathe is full of little imper¬ 
ceptible animalculse, as Professor Tyndall has recently 
demonstrated, and each of these insects, sporules, 
infusoria, siliceous or polygastric, as they have been 
called, according to their different natures, by the 
naturalists, is in itself a little system of vital evolu¬ 
tions, on whose minute bodies prey even smaller 
beings who live and die there, where the investigating 
eye of man will never reach to analyse them ! For 
such is the profusion of life on this world, that all it 
contains is full of it ! ” 

“ Surely you must exaggerate,” said my young 
wife, surprised by these statements, which she heard 
for the first time. 

“ Far from it. All that I have been telling you is 
I. P 


226 


The Honeymoon. 

perfect truth, and in order to prove it to you still 
more, I will give you undeniable and positive facts. 

“ Leuwenhoecli, the immortal discoverer of the 
microscope, has assured us that a thousand millions 
of infusoria do not occupy more room than a grain of 
corn, and 1,11 1,500,000 of them are required to 
weigh a gramme. 

“ Camille Flammarion in his book La pluralite des 
mondes halites (L. iii. c. 11), says that in a square 
inch of chalk one can count more than 40,000,000 
of fossil animalcule©, and 1,800,000,000 of fossil 
shells, and adds that one of these creatures could 
produce in four days 1 50,000,000 of its species. 

“ Sir John Herschel when he observed the little 
insects in the air, found that they could be counted 
by millions. 

“ Ehrenberg has discovered, also, that life is distri¬ 
buted with such profusion upon this earth, that even 
upon the infusoria of which I have been speaking to 
you, live, as parasites, other animalculse of even 
smaller size. 

“Sir John Herschel placed a drop of pure water 
upon a crystal, and viewing this through a microscope 
that gave this drop the apparent diameter of twelve 
feet, he was surprised to find that it contained a 
population of animals of all sizes, but such a compact 
population that in all this diameter of twelve feet it 
would have been impossible to place the point of a 
needle upon an unoccupied spot. 

“ Nothing is more marvellous than the organisation 


227 


A Moonlight Walk. 

of tliese invisible beings, and if the most attentive 
observations had hot placed the facts beyond doubt, 
men might have been tempted to think, as you did, 
darling Conchita, that the accounts given by natur¬ 
alists were pure fiction, or else audacious falsehoods. 

“ A single microzoon has, so to speak, no weight ; 
placed in the most sensitive balance it does not 
impart to it the slightest oscillation. The whale, on 
the other hand, attains a length of one hundred feet, 
and a weight of two hundred tons—more than the 
weight of an army of three thousand men ; and yet, 
the profusion of vital apparatus in the microsea some¬ 
times exceeds that which is seen in these large 
creatures. There are some which possess fifteen to 
twenty stomachs, or even more, while man has only 
one, and the bull and the camel can boast of four or 
five. In addition, there is in some infusoria a curious 
mechanism appended to this superabundance of organs 
—one of the stomachs being furnished with teeth of 
extreme delicacy, which can be seen through the 
transparent body moving and crushing the food. 

“ Notwithstanding the extreme minuteness of these 
creatures, which remained unknown through so many 
ages, nature has expended the most watchful care 
upon them, and their different species fill all the earth, 
for they have been found among the ice of the Polar 
Seas at the seventy-eighth degree of south latitude, 
as in the regions of the equator. 

“ Near the poles, says Ehrenberg, there, where the 
large organisations could not subsist, is to be found, 




228 


The Honeymoon. 


however, a kind of life ; extremely small, it is true, 
but which possesses a most wonderful organisation, 
almost invisible, but incessant. The microscopic 
animals found in the austral seas near the South 
Pole during the voyages of Sir James Ross, offer a 
most peculiar kind of organisation unknown till then, 
and which often present a most remarkable elegance. 
In the remote ice-bergs which float about the 79° 1 O' 
of longitude there have been found species of siliceous 
polygastric still alive, which proves to us that these 
microscopic animals have been able to subsist in the 
coldest of climates. In the Gulf of Erebus, the 
plummet brought up, from a depth of between 403 
to 526 yards, seventy-eight species of silicious 
microzoa; and they have been discovered at a depth 
of more than 12,000 feet, where they had to support 
the enormous pressure of 373 atmospheres—a pres¬ 
sure capable of bursting a cannon, but which the 
gelatinous body of a microscopic infusorium resists 
in some marvellous way. 

“ But it is not only in the animal kingdom that 
we find such a profusion of life, and such extra¬ 
ordinary means of propagation. The vegetable king¬ 
dom is still richer and larger, and it also has its 
extremes like the animal one, 

“ The vegetable kingdom is the emblem of diversity 
and harmony. While its extremes offer to us the 
most extraordinary contrasts, all its species are, how¬ 
ever, so united by means of imperceptible links that 
they could almost be called one family. In some 


229 


A Moonlight Walk. 

• <_> 

species the size and the grandeur are pre-eminent ; 
thus you have the oak, the cedar, and the palm tree, 
which cover the earth with their foliage ; others 
attract our admiration by their beauty and the 
delicacy of their form and flowers, such as the ferns 
and the grasses. On one side we see robust forms 
modelled by the hands of giants, on the other the 
most delicate outlines traced by the fingers of fairies. 

“ What an immense contrast does there not exist 
between the ever-green palm-tree, that seems to 
pierce the clouds with its straight and never-bending 
column, and that grey lichen, a thin layer of moss, 
that creeps up our statues and walls ! And yet even 
in the midst of this wmndrous chaos, science reveals 
to us the order and the eternal wisdom which rules 
and directs everything. 

“ The vegetable kingdom covers with its innumer¬ 
able families all the surface of the earth, and we find 
it the same in the regions of the far north as in the 
forests of the equator, the same on the high moun¬ 
tains as in the profound depths of the ocean. It 
propagates itself with a marvellous rapidity, and 
some of its species live during centuries and centu¬ 
ries, always fresh, and alwaj^s green.* 

* u There is a cypress tree, venerable patriarch of the vegetable 
kingdom, that has become celebrated on account of its size and of 
its antiquity. It grows in the road between Vera Cruz and 
Mexico, and, as Solis says in his “ Conquest of Mexico,” it served 
as refuge to Hernan Cortes and all his army. Its base measures 
one hundred and seventeen feet in circumference, and De Candolle 
assures us that it must be at least 6000 years old, age which im- 


230 The Honeymoon . 

“ To prove to you, dear Conch ita, the rapidity with 
which some plants are reproduced, I will give you 
the following statement, which is beyond doubt :— 
‘ A single spotted orchid will have as many seeds in 
a year as would plant a field, the seeds of these 
orchids would cover the whole island of Anglesea, 
and the seeds of the orchids of the island of Anglesea 
would the following year cover forty-seven fiftieth 
parts of the whole earth.’* Such is the rapidity with 
which the vegetable kingdom is propagated upon 
our planet ! And this is not an exception ; almost 
all plants produce an immense number of seeds of 
which, if by far the greater part were not annually 
lost, we should soon see the whole earth covered. 

“ Rey counted 32,000 seeds in a poppy, and Lin¬ 
naeus tells us that sometimes one single tobacco plant 
produces 40,000 seeds at a time. Moreover, Dodard 
assures us that an elm produces 529,000 in a year ! 

“ Life is distributed throughout all the earth ; every¬ 
thing in it lives, and reproduces its existence for 
generations and generations ; each little insect that 
circulates through our blood, and each microscopic 
moss that grows over our houses, has its breath of 
life similar to that which gives us our being, and 
that like this, proceeds from the supreme Creator. 
Can it be possible that life which attains such a 
degree of development upon our globe, is only to be 

plies it must have been a contemporary of Adam and Eve, if we 
believe in the Mosaic account.”— (Hist. Gen. des Voy. T. XII., p. 389. 

* Fertilization of the British Orchids, p. 344. 



A Moonlight Walk. 231 

found on this earth ; and that all those bright stars 
that illuminate our nights could be deserted and un¬ 
inhabited ? Oh no ! Great God ! this could not be 
the case. Let me not limit the many benefits thou 
hast distributed upon our earth, to the small circle 
of one planet. Oh, omnipotent Creator ! expand our 
intellectual vision to behold the many mansions we 
are told exist in thy kingdom, when we raise our eyes 
and see the myriads of worlds that, glittering, proclaim 
thy mighty power throughout thy glorious universe ! 

Conchita had listened to my long speech in utter 
astonishment. She could not understand so many 
marvels, and when I had finished she only had 
breath to murmur, “ Oh my God, how great Thou 
art! And is it possible that I, a poor, miserable 
sinner, may call myself Thy daughter ! ” 

I took her by the hand, and, showing her a bright 
star which glittered above our heads, I said, “ Do 
you see that beautiful star, my darling, up yonder in 
the dark blue sky ? It is Sirius , the most beautiful 
and the most brilliant of the stars of heaven. Fifty- 
two trillions, one hundred and seventy-four thousand 
millions of leagues divide us from it ! and yet this 
enormous distance seems but a step when we compare 
it with the immensity of space ! 

“ In order to traverse the space that divides that 
world from ours, light, which travels with the velocity 
of seventy thousand leagues a second, takes more than 
twenty-two years to arrive here. Thus the Sirius that 
you see to-day is not the Sirius of 1872, but the 


232 


The Honeymoon. 


Sirius of 1850, that is to say, that the luminous ray 
which at this moment we perceive is one which was 
shed by that star more than twenty-two years ago. 

“ The surface of the earth, that seems to us so 
large, and that some even pretend contains all the 
universe, is only 510,000,000 of square kilometers, 
while that of the sun is 1,407,187 times larger, and 
that little star which you see yonder is twelve times 
larger even than the sun, for its diameter is of no less 
than 4,500,000 of leagues ! 

“ Oh Conchita ! there is nothing that raises the 
soul so much towards its Creator as the study of the 
heavens. It is to it that we owe the wonderful and 
accurate science of astronomy, and it is to it that 
we also owe our present enlarged ideas of the immen¬ 
sity of the universe, and the omnipotence of God ! 

“ How grand it is for man, a mere spiritual atom 
in a material atomic frame, to have penetrated the 
mysteries of the universe, and to have raised himself to 
the knowledge of these sublime truths ! For could 
it be possible that those immense worlds, so beautiful, 
so perfect, have only been made for desolation and 
solitude ? Could it be possible that the God who has 
so filled this world with life, and who has distributed 
organised existence with such profusion upon it, has 
also made worlds like Sirius, so much larger, so much 
more perfect, so much more inhabitable than ours, 
' only to give light to the men of this little earth ? 
This could not be ; it would be against the economy 
which God has displayed in all His other works. Of 


A Moonlight Walk. 233 

what use can the light, which comes from those dis¬ 
tant suns, be to the inhabitants of this world, if the 
distance which divides them from it, and which, in 
most cases, takes thousands of years to traverse, makes 
that light appear so small that men cannot even read 
by it % Moreover, there are so many thousands of 
colossal suns, of which men will never have an idea ! 
Of what use can the light, which proceeds from those 
suns, be to us if we can only perceive it by means of 
the strongest and most powerful telescopes, and even 
then only under certain circumstances ? ” 

“ Our church, however, tells us, Walter, that they 
were only created to give light upon earth ; perhaps 
this is not verosimil, but it is actually the truth. And 
it seems to me that this proves to us more than any¬ 
thing else the grandeur and the power of the Almighty, 
who made such colossal suns, and who distributed 
them with such a profusion all over the heavens, only 
to give light and pleasure to man, His chief work.” 

“ If you speak to me according to science, or ac¬ 
cording to reason or common sense, I shall be able to 
answer all your objections ; but if, to prove the falsity 
of my theory, you bring in a dogma of the Church, I 
shall be obliged to close my mouth. If the Church 
chooses to declare false ideas to be dogmas, what can I 
do or say ? I suppose we shall all have to believe that 
this lake is in America, instead of in Scotland, if the 
Church chooses to say so, even if we are convinced of 
the contrary ! ” 

“ You forget, Walter, that your theory is not as yet 


234 


The Honeymoon. 


a proved fact, or even recognised by science. The 
Church cannot teach what is not true.” 

“ According to that, if the Church is right in hold¬ 
ing as untrue everything that is not proved to be 
true, and thus put an end to all investigation and all 
discoveries, she was also right in asserting that the 
sun went round the earth, and she ought to be praised 
for making Galileo deny his wonderful discoveries. 
Neither was this a scientific truth then, and yet to¬ 
day it is recognised and admitted as such by all. To¬ 
morrow, very likely, the theory of the plurality of 
inhabited worlds will have a Galileo who will preach 
it, a Kepler who will demonstrate its truth, and a 
Newton who will establish its laws, and then we shall 
see if the Church dare to oppose it. But it seems to 
me that after the innumerable, profound, and most 
convincing works of Fontenelle, of Huygens, of Swe¬ 
denborg, of Voltaire, of Charles Bonnet, of Guilmain, 
and, above all, of Flammarion, it is impossible to 
consider this doctrine any longer a folly, as some who 
think themselves very wise call it, or an hallucination, 
as the priests condescend to entitle it.” 

“ I have never read any of the works of which you 
speak, and so I will not let myself be carried away by 
your enthusiasm. My father confessor has often told 
me that this is the only world, that there is no other 
in the universe, and I believe it ; a priest of God 
could not be mistaken.” 

“ And you believe rather in the opinions of a 
bigoted ignorant man, only because he is a priest, than 


2 35 


A Moonlight Walk. 

in the testimony of science, and in what common sense 
and philosophy teach us ? Oh, Conchita ! I will not 
oppose your superstitions, but it seems to me that you, 
who are so liberal and rational on every other subject, 
are most blind-folded and narrow-minded in every¬ 
thing that relates to religion.” 

“ Oh, Walter! Walter!” exclaimed the young girl, 
throwing herself into my arms, and with her eyes full 
of tears, “ can it be possible that you will always be 
offending my feelings and sentiments ? you whom I 
love most in the world ! Oh, if you love me as 
you say you do, do not speak to me again about reli¬ 
gion. I may be superstitious, ignorant, illiberal, 
narrow-minded, anything you like, but I have been 
born a Catholic, and I will be one to the end of my 
life. ...” She looked at me after she had said this, 
and then calming herself gradually she continued, 
showing me the moon which illuminated the lake at 
this moment with her silvery rays. “ Is it possible 
that we must quarrel even before this pure and en¬ 
chanting honeymoon has set upon the horizon of our 
lives! ” 

Those words went to my heart. Jt was a great 
trial for me, thus to make the being I loved so dearly, 
unhappy, and yet I could not restore her happiness 
without sacrificing my own convictions. 

Conchita observed the struggle that was going on 
in my heart, and, taking my hand between hers, she 
said, in those sweet, melodious tones which only the 
voice of the woman one loves has for the ear:—“ I 


236 The Honeymoon. 

will try to forget, Walter, that tlie theory of the 
plurality of inhabited worlds has been condemned by 
our Holy Mother, the Church, and I want you simply 
to tell me the considerations which made you first 
adopt it, and the phenomena upon which you depend 
for its truth.” 

There was so much self-denial, such abnegation, in 
those words, that I at once began to hope in her con¬ 
version to my belief—I might say, to common sense; 
for when once you get a person to hear your arguments, 
half the battle is won. I tried my best, therefore, to 
prove to her the truth of this theory. 

Among other things, I said :— 

“ Before all, my Conchita, I must impart to you 
the two fundamental truths, which, fortunately, are 
quite in accordance with the doctrines of our Church: 
these are, that God is just and wise in all His works, 
and that His empire is one of life, and not one of 
death. 

“ The world we inhabit is not a privileged earth, as 
some suppose ; it is merely one of the eight planets 
which revolve round the sun.. It forms no exception 
whatever among these, and it has not received the 
smallest privilege. On the contrary, it neither is the 
one nearest the sun, nor the one farthest away, nor 
even the centre one ; it occupies the third place round 
this, and is one of the smallest; for without going out 
of our system, there are several others infinitely larger. 
Saturn, for instance, is seven hundred and thirty-four 
times larger, and Jupiter one thousand four hundred 



2 37 


A Moonlight Walk . 

and fourteen. If we compare the earth with those 
other planets, we find it decidedly an inferior world, 
under the most essential circumstances, from the 
geological and atmospheric conditions required for 
inhabitability, respecting which the earth is most 
bad]y situated to the fatal laws which rule life upon 
its surface. Some geologists have compared the earth 
to a very thin globe of glass of a yard in diameter, the 
inside of which is full of incandescent metals in fusion, 
which can burst when least expected. The weight of 
the earth, moreover, is tremendous, if we compare it 
with that of the other planets—Jupiter, for example, 
whose diameter is so much larger. The axis of the 
earth has also such an inclination, that this one-sided 
position causes its seasons to be so varied and its 
climates so changeable. This is, of course, a great 
disadvantage, from which other planets are free. In 
Jupiter, for instance, there are no seasons; all the 
year round it retains the same spring-like temperature. 

“ To pretend, therefore, that the earth is the best 
and most perfect of -worlds, is utter nonsense. To 
those who live in it, and whose whole hopes and 
prospects are resting upon it, it may be the most 
important of all the universe ; but, in reality, it is 
only one of the most insignificant planets of one of 
the smallest solar systems, of the millions which 
populate the heavens. Those beautiful stars which 
you see shining over your head, and of which the 
sky is so full, are quite ignorant of our existence, for 
the rays of our sun conceal us quite from their sight. 



238 The Honeymoon. 

And even if it were not for this, they could not see 
us on account of our small size. Even among the 
planets of our own solar system, there are only four 
that can have any idea of our existence—Mercury, 
Venus, Mars, and Jupiter; and, for the last one, we 
remain the greater part of the time hidden by the 
rays of the sun. 

“ You see, Conchita, that the earth cannot possibly 
be a privileged world; and since the time when 
Kepler demonstrated that the innumerable stars that 
surround us are suns like ours, round which turn 
thousands of planets as large or larger than ours, we 
have been obliged to admit that those worlds must 
also be, like ours, inhabited. On these, as upon the 
earth, the generative rays of the sun give light and 
heat-—in different proportions, it is true, but in equi¬ 
valent ones ; and this heat and this light, that make 
both plants and beings upon our earth germinate and 
grow, why should it not cause the same effect in those 
other worlds which are in nothing different from ours ? 
In them, as in ours, the months and the days succeed 
each other ; in them, as in ours, a transparent atmo¬ 
sphere encircles in a temperate and adequate climate 
the habitable surface. Over them, as over ours, 
vaporous clouds rise from the ocean, and are dispersed 
under the sky, melting away when needed in bene¬ 
ficial rain, or in pure dew, which fecundates their 
beautiful fields. And can anyone live who says that 
all those beautiful worlds are uninhabited ? Oh ! this 
great movement of life which circulates on our earth 




239 


A Moonlight Walk. 

cannot be circumscribed to this small earthlet ! The 
same causes should produce there the same effects as 
they do here; and most of these worlds possess condi¬ 
tions infinitely more favourable to organised existence 
than the earth itself. 

“ I really cannot understand how men of talent 
and scientific men can assert that stars so magnificent 
as those which surround us have been created with 
the only purpose of beautifying the nights of such an 
imperceptible and insignificant earthlet as this. You 
say, Conchita, that this proves to us the love of God 
towards man, and also His greatness ; but it seems to 
me that He would have proved this better if He had 
placed us at once in one of those perfect and radiant 
worlds of light. Moreover, the greatness of the 
Creator consists in his economy, not in his waste. 
And you yourself must allow that to create millions 
of suns of such colossal size, to illuminate a world 
1,400,000 times smaller than the smallest of them, is 
utter waste and nothing else. 

“ The absurdity of such an opinion becomes greater 
still when we learn that Venus is a planet of about 
the same dimensions as the earth, which has its 
mountains and its seas, its seasons and its years, its 
days and its nights, the same as this ; these two 
worlds are alike in everything, so that if Venus is 
uninhabited, the earth should also be uninhabited, 
and in the same w T ay if the earth is inhabited Venus 
must also be inhabited. But what can we say when 
we observe worlds such as Jupiter and Saturn, of 


240 The Honeymoon. 

such colossal dimensions, of such fertile soil with alto¬ 
gether infinitely better conditions for organised exist¬ 
ence, where the seasons do not change, and which are 
surrounded by numerous satellites that illuminate 
their nights til] the sun, our own sun, rises again upon 
their horizon ! Surely we cannot deny inhabitants 
to those privileged giants, if we allow them to exist 
in this little world which is one thousand four hundred 
and fourteen times smaller than they are \ 

“ Of course it will be said that the natural con¬ 
ditions of some of those worlds are very different 
from those of ours ; this is true, but it does not 
imply that life cannot exist upon them, because this 
life must be different from ours. It is absurd to 
pretend that without a certain number of equivalents 
of oxygen and carbon, the all-powerful God could not 
create any kind of beings ; that the divine creation 
is divided into three kingdoms upon this earth, is not 
a reason that others may not exist under different 
conditions in other planets, incompatible with any 
of the forms known on ours, wdiere yet diversity is so 
great that no two faces resemble each other. 

“ And then this cannot be an objection to the 
theory, for even if we put aside the worlds different 
from ours, yet there remain thousands of others 
similar in every respect to our earth, upon which we 
could live with as great or even greater ease than we 
can on this. Why should they not be inhabited ? 

“ To deny the plurality of inhabited worlds seems 
to me an impiety and an insult to the wisdom and 


241 


A Moonlight Walk. 

greatness of the creator. Oh ! is it possible, my God, 
that any of thy children can thus limit thy powers, 
and believe thee only to be the father of the beings 
of this earth, when thou hast created all the universe! 

“ Ah ! if the human eye were powerful enough to 
discover, there, where we only see points of light 
under the dark vault of heaven, the resplendent suns 
which gravitate in space and the glories of the worlds 
which, full of life, they illumine in their course through 
the a^es ; if we could embrace with one look those 
countless millions of solar systems, and if advancing 
with the velocity of thought, we could traverse this 
unlimited number of suns and spheres, of which there 
seems to be no end, for God’s greatness and mercy is 
infinite; if we could travel for centuries and centuries 
through this countless mass of worlds, and then look 
back towards that invisible speck of earth we call the 
world, we should certainly be confounded by the 
greatness of the scene, and uniting our voice to that 
of universal nature we would exclaim from the 
depth of our hearts— 

“ Great God ! how short-sighted we are when we 
believe that there is nothing in the universe but that 
earth of ours, and that that initial and only temporary 
home of man has alone the privilege of reflecting thy 
greatness and thy power ! ” 

My words, but more than all the beauty and 
grandeur of the scene before us, moved Conchita’s 
heart, and when I had finished she fell into my arms 
exclaiming: “ Oh thou art right, my husband, in 
1. Q 


242 


The Honeymoon. 

believing in those grand views ; for God, the God who 
made thy heart must be infinite, omnipotent, wise, 
and good ! ” 

Those were her last words, she leant on my arm, 
so close to my heart that I could hear every palpita¬ 
tion of hers, and thus, side by side, we walked by 
the silvery lake’s side, until the moon set behind the 
mountains, when we entered the hotel for the night. 


CHAPTER XIY. 


THE SUNRISE ON THE LAKE. 

The next morning we rose very early, in order to 
enjoy as much of the lake as possible ; we therefore 
directed our steps towards Loch Lomond, although it 
was as yet scarcely day. We traversed the gardens of 
the hotel till we arrived at the edge of the lake; of 
course the pier was quite deserted at that early 
hour. 

The first rays of light began to appear behind the 
mountains in the east, and this vague but rosy tint 
gave to the beautiful scene before us a mysterious 
character of the most enchanting nature. 

“ How much more delightful is this early hour, 
when we can walk alone by these beautiful 
shores, unobserved and free, than the middle of the 
day, when crowds of tourists and noisy travellers 
profane the solitude of this poetic lake, where only 
love and peace should dwell.” Thus said Conchita, as 
she fluttered like a butterfly among the flower beds 
of the garden. At last she arrived quite close to the 
shore of the lake, where several boats were tied to 
the pier, she paused for a moment, and then said, 

“ Walter, do you see yonder green isle almost lost 


244 


The Honeymoon . 

amidst the tints of the early morning ? I should so 
like to £0 there ! Could we not take one of these 
boats and row towards it ? ” 

I smiled, and, jumping into the nearest of them, 
assisted Conchita to embark. We soon found our¬ 
selves on the middle of the lake. I rowed, while she 
sat at the stern, steering our little bark towards the 
fairy-like isle in the distance. 

“ Won’t you sing something, Walter,” she said 
suddenly, “ we only need music to make the charm of 
the scene complete.” 

Bending on my oars, and keeping time by their 
strokes upon the peaceful waters, I then sang :— 

t 

“ Hurrah for the Highlands, the stern Scottish Highlands, 

The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free, 

Where the clouds love to rest on the ocean’s rough breast, 

Ere they traverse afar o’er the islandless sea. 

“ ’Tis the land of deep shadow, of sunshine and shower, 

Where the hurricane revels in madness on high, 

For there it has might that can war with its power, 

In the world’s dizzy heights that are cleaving the sky. 

“ J Tis there where the cataract sings to the breeze, 

As it dashes in foam like a spirit of light; 

J Tis there the bold fisherman bounds o’er the sea, 

In his flat tiny bark, through the perilous night. 

“ I have trod merry England, and dwelt on her charms, 

I have wandered o’er Erin, that gem of the sea, 

But the Highlands alone the true Scottish heart warms, 

For her heather is blooming, her eagles are free. 

“ Then hurrah for the Highlands, the stern Scottish Highlands, 
The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free, 

Where the clouds love to rest on the ocean’s rough breast, 

Ere they travel afar o’er the islandless sea.” 



The Sunrise on the Lake. 245 

The little boat touched at last the fairy-like shore 
of the isle, and Conchita jumped upon the rock that 
surrounded it. The island, on which we had just 
landed, was one of the smallest of the archipelago 
which studs Loch Lomond, with its fresh verdure and 
its gray and picturesque rocks. 

We left the boat, which had brought us thus far, 
tied to the trunk of an old tree which we found near 
the shore, and, after taking this necessary precaution, 
we begun to explore the little isle. 

This was an exceedingly small one, and in less than 
five minutes we had surveyed it in all directions. 
Conchita was no little annoyed when she became 
aware of its size, for she had begun to be proud of 
her discovery ; but in spite of its small size we found 
a virgin grove of trees, from which it was impossible 
to see the shore, and in this peaceful dale, where the 
rays of the brightly beaming sun did not yet pene¬ 
trate, we sat for a long time side by side, listening to 
the sweet morning song of the birds. My lovely 
bride was much moved by the beauty of the scene, 
so new and so enchanting for her; her impressionable 
soul was open to all that was pure and lovely as her¬ 
self, and I could see that this wild and solitary spot 
had made a great impression on her mind. 

“ Walter, Walter !” she exclaimed, bending her fair 
head upon my bosom, “ why should we not pass our 
whole lives here, amidst this natural verdure and 
those sweet birds; this lovely little isle belongs to us 


246 


The Honeymoon. 

by the right of discovery ? Here, away from the 
world, we could live the one for the other.” 

I took her in my arms, and, holding her to my 
heart, allowed a few minutes to elapse before answer¬ 
ing her. During this pause we were so close to each 
other that I could feel her warm soothing breath 
upon my brow. At last I said, breaking the sweet 
spell, 

“ Would that be perfect happiness, Conchita, ac¬ 
cording to your idea ? ” 

“ Yes, darling, by your side everything is happi¬ 
ness.” 

“ Then, why retire far away from the homes of 
men to live as savages upon a desert island ? ” 

“ Because that in the world all is so soon for¬ 
gotten. Yes, forgotten like a dream ; even love may 
become indifference, and you will, perhaps, soon forget 
me, whom now }mu love so much, whilst here we 
could live for ever the same, the one for the other, 
and no stranger would come between us to disturb 
our felicity—to rob me, perhaps, of your love, 
Walter ! ” 

“ Oh, Conchita, my sweet one ! how little you are 
aware of the necessities of this life, and how little you 
know even your own heart; that which to-day is a 
heaven to you, could very easily become to-morrow a 
hell. It is not the place that causes our happiness, 
but the state of our own hearts. Our minds need 
constant food, in order to remain in a continual 
state of happiness ; our hearts need to vary their sen- 



The Sunrise on the Lake. 


247 


sations to be for ever constant; one idea alone cannot 
fill a whole existence, nor can even love fill a whole 
heart; we need a succession of ideas and a succession 
of feelings in order to be perfectly happy, and to save 
ourselves from ennui, which would indeed be a foe to 
love. If we were to live here alone for ever, our love, 
apart from the rest of humanity, would soon come to 
an end ; in the world, among men and among their 
ideas and their pursuits, it will be renewed and pro¬ 
longed. Everything in life produces a fortuitous suc¬ 
cession of thoughts and ideas, over which we do not 
possess the smallest control. The phenomena of 
nature succeed each other incessantly, the same with 
our feelings. How well did the ancient philosopher 
know human nature when he said that ive lived from 
day to day ! Yes, my Conchita, as day succeeds to 
day, one event succeeds another, one idea and one 
affection gives place or assists to develope other ideas 
and other affections, whilst we, poor toys of nature, 
are at a loss to explain to our own selves the change 
that has taken place ; for in the human heart there 
is, without our knowing it, a perpetual succession of 
passions that cannot cease, so that the ruin of one is 
always the foundation of another. Love, like all 
other fires, cannot exist without perpetual fuel; both 
cease to live as soon as they cease to hope, or to fear, 
and this succession of events and feelings is necessary 
for the education of our spirit, which is the only object 
of our earthly pilgrimage from early childhood through 
all the experiences of manhood. 

“ How well St Paul knew the great truth he ex- 


248 The Honeymoon. 

pressed in these words, ‘ When I was a child I spoke 
as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a 
child; but when I became a man, I put away 
childish things/ This happens to us all. I myself, 
when I draw a comparison between my present self 
and what I was only a few years ago, find that there 
is scarcely one point of similarity, and I could almost 
swear that I am quite a different being, if it were not 
for my memory, that reminds me of every phase and 
every experience through which my spirit has passed, 
and which has contributed to make it what it now is ; 
but if some day I were to lose all memory of the past, 
I should at the same time lose my own identity, and 
yet I should still be the same being. What resem¬ 
blance is there between the young Walter who played 
in Northumberland with his cousins, and the most 
intimate friends of his school-days, who have long 
ago forgotten him, and whom he also soon forgot, and 
the Walter whom you now see at your feet, happy 
because he can call himself thine ? 

“ And yet I was also happy then, or at least I 
thought myself so, but how different is the happiness 
which I experience at this moment. Truly, my spirit 
must be quite changed, for it is the ideas and the 
feelings which constitute it, and they have undergone 
a total change. 

“ And my body, is it, perchance, the same ? Surely 
not. The body of the boy Walter, must lie to-day 
changed into earth or into leaves in distant countries 
of the world, for it has long ago been proved that 


The Sunrise on the Lake . 249 

every seven years we change our bodies completely, 
bn account of the continual combustion which takes 
place in us. Thus, not an atom, not a particle remains 
of what I was only seven years ago ; and my spirit, 
I may almost say, is also another, for the phenomena 
of nature produce different impressions upon it from 
what they produced only seven years ago, and all its 
tastes and feelings have undergone a total variation. 
Am I not, then, another in both body and soul ? 

“ If I had died and been born again, I could not 
be more changed, and yet the world still calls me 
Lord Carlton ! 

“ I do not know if this theory has ever before been 
expressed, but I have often thought about it, and I 
can hardly doubt of its truth, yet you know, my 
darling, that my motto is,—‘ I deny nothing , and 1 
assert nothing; I only speculate , and seek for truthi 
“From this view I infer that as our spirit changes 
and progresses, or rather is developed, our thoughts 
are remoulded, our ideas unfold as we behold a vaster 
horizon ; thus comes the ease with which vve forget 

t* 

what at the beginning had such charms for us, but 
which delights us no longer, for, as la Rochefoucauld 
says, ‘ the duration of our passions is not more 
dependent upon us than the duration of our life.’ ” 

“ But if such be the case, Walter, what becomes of 
free-will? surely we are masters of our own hearts.” 

“ Only to a certain point. Sometimes we should 
like to love, and yet we cannot ; at others, we love 
whom we ought not to love. No man is free in this 



250 


The Honeymoon . 


world. We are all the creatures of circumstances, 
and of the various experiences which go to make up 
our lives, and which have made us 'what we are ; our 
feelings change without our knowing it. It is true 
that one love can fill the whole of a human life, but 
to do this it must undergo certain variations and 
changes, even as human life itself is composed of a 
succession of changes. 

“ Thus, my own Conchita, the love which to-day 
I have for you is not the love with which you 
inspired me when, for the first time, I saw }mu in 
the convent of Seville. In reality, the first impres¬ 
sions have quite disappeared. I remember that love 
with pleasure, but I cannot feel it anew; to-day 
another passion fills my whole being, and yet you 
are still its object. 

“ When I first saw thee, Conchita, I loved thee on 
account of thy beauty, which surpassed all the dreams 
that, in my fancy, I had drawn of an ideal perfection. 
You were to me Murillo’s Conception herself, stepping 
out of her frame in the holy temple, to take me with 
you to heaven, and 1 loved you with all my heart, 
and I imagined that this love would fill the whole of 
my existence, and yet this love soon vanished from 
my heart, but only to give place to another. 

“ I had known you for a week, and this short 
space of time was enough for your mind to efface 
your beauty from my heart. Oh ! call me not incon¬ 
stant, Conchita, if I forgot the latter to fill my whole 
existence with the former 1 But how different was 


The Sunrise on the Lake . 


251 


not even this love from that which to-day I feel 
for you. Then, I must confess, I was selfish, I wanted 
you to be mine, I wanted to be able to call myself 
thine, and I was desirous of possessing your love, 
for I felt the blindest passion for you. But the feel¬ 
ing with which to-day you inspire me is a passion 
infinitely more holy, more spiritual. I love you for 
yourself, and for what you are. Then I could have 
sacrificed you to a passion which I thought eternal; 
to-day you find me ready to sacrifice myself to your 
most simple wish. Then I wanted to make you mine, 
before God and before men ; to-day I am happy, for 
I am thine, the world has nothing to do between us 
two, for we now are one, united in soul and sym¬ 
pathy.” 

“ You are right, Walter,” said Conchita, when I had 
finished. “You are right; I have felt the same, though 
I could not explain it to myself. I have often observed 
that my love towards you, my darling husband, was 
undergoing a change, although it still was as true and 
constant as ever. During our voyage from Spain, 
mamma often found me crying, and almost unhappy. 
“ Don’t you love Lord Carlton, Conchita,” she used to 
say, “ and I could not answer. I doubted myself. But 
do not accuse me for this, darling; you know that I 
live for you; if our love has changed, our hearts are 
still the same, and, as now we are so happy, why 
should we not forget the world and continue living in 
the same love to the end of our days ? I am so happy 
. . thus ... in thy arms ! ” and the beautiful girl 


252 The Honeymoon. 

put my arm round her heavenly form, which I pressed 
to my heart. 

“ Yes, my Conchita, this would, indeed, be perfect 
happiness, if we could stop the march of time; if we 
could say to eternity, as Joshua said to the sun, stop. 
But, unfortunately, this is impossible, unless we were 
to do as those famous lovers, who, thinking them¬ 
selves one day so perfectly happy, killed themselves, 
so that not one minute should elapse after that mo¬ 
ment of complete felicity. But if we are to remain in 
the world there is no standing still, we shall be obliged 
to change, for everything around us will continue to 
advance and progress.” 

“ Fortuitously^ ” 

f< No : have I, perchance, used that horrible word? 
If I have, I correct it, for it is too materialistic, too 
atheistic, to be philosophical; no, fortuitously, per¬ 
haps it may seem for us who are ignorant of the laws 
of nature, for us, for whom everything seems casual, 
‘but not for the Supreme Creator, who has established 
the invariable laws which rule the universe. 

“ Yes, for every change must follow certain laws, for 
every effect of nature there exists a law created or de¬ 
veloped at the same time. ‘ In prima institutione 
naturae non quaeritur miraculum, sed quid natura rerum 
habeat, ut Augustinus dicit/ as your countryman St 
Thomas of Aquinus used to say. Yes, it is according 
to these laws that one step follows another, al¬ 
though they may seem to us only the effects of 
chance. 


The Sunrise on the Lake. 253 

“ This beautiful island, that to-day smiles on us 
with its fresh verdure, will be in a few months covered 
with snow, and that blue lake will be changed into a 
hard frozen surface. Those birds that to-day greet 
the rising sun with their merry songs will be dead, 
or have disappeared ; and we ourselves, in a very few 
years, shall have put on the wintry garments of age 
like the first, or like the latter shall have died—nav, 
rather, we, like the little birds, shall have flown away 
to inhabit milder and happier regions, nearer to the 
bright summer land, where our lives will be a per¬ 
petual dream of love.” 

“ But for this, one must die ! Walter, one must 
die ! ” repeated my young bride, while all the colour 
forsook her face. “ Die, and with death comes separa¬ 
tion and forgetfulness. . . .” 

I took her by the hand, and I led her to the shore 
of the lake. “ Who has told you that, Conchita ? I 
have often assured you, my darling, that death, or 
rather the change you call by that name, is neither 
annihilation nor forgetfulness, and perhaps not even 
separation. It is only a change of state, not a change 
of being. I have just told you that if I had died two 
or three times during the short period of my life, and 
been born again, I could not be more changed than I 
am, and it is the truth ; the day of death brings but 
a change in our way of being, a change of state, it is 
the birthday of the soul, nothing more. Do you be¬ 
lieve our love to be so poor a thing, my darling, that 
death can make us forget one another ? No; we may 



254 


The Honeymoon. 


forget what belonged to our body which remains upon 
the earth, but that which belongs to our spirit goes 
to heaven with it.” 

“ And, how do you know that, Walter ? Have 
you, perchance, seen some one after death who has 
told you his adventures in the other world ? ” 

“ Do not laugh at me, Concliita, because in my 
ignorance I want to picture to myself death and the 
after life. 1 know very well that hitherto this has 
not been generally known in the world, but yet there 
have always been certain intuitive things which our 
hearts tell us, and which all the cold philosophy of 
this world cannot silence or efface from our minds. 
But do not let us think any more on this subject, 
which seems so sad to you, although it fills my whole 
being and causes my happiness; forget it, and think 
only of our present felicity, and of the glorious spec¬ 
tacle before us.” 

“ Look, yonder comes the powerful king of day, 

Rejoicing in the east; the lessening cloud, 

The kindling azure, and the mountain’s brow 
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
Betoken glad ! Lo ! now, apparent all, 

Aslant the dew-bright earth and colour’d air, 

He looks in boundless majesty abroad, 

And sheds the shining day, that burnish’d plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 
High gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer light! 

Of all material beings first and best! 

Efflux divine ! Nature’s resplendent robe ! 

Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt 
In unessential gloom ; and thou, 0 Sun ! 

Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom between 
Shines out thy Maker, may I sing of thee ? ” 


The Sunrise on the Lake. 255 

The snn had just appeared behind Ben Lomond, 
and the scene which it unfolded before our eyes was 
sublime. The mountain seemed as a giant of the 
abyss veiled in darkness which was struggling to the 
very last with the king of day to intercept his 
passage. 

The rays of the sun did not, as yet, reach the 
peaceful and deep waters of the lake below, and 
while in heaven all was light, darkness yet prevailed 
over the earth, and a bluish mist covered the distant 
hills. 

I observed this to Conchita, and then I said, 
“What you see at the present moment is precisely 
the image of what is actually passing in the world, 
light struggling with darkness, reason with ignorance, 
religion with materialism. The world as yet is in 
almost complete darkness, but the sun is rising in all 
its glory, and a new day will dawn for humanity, for 
before light darkness always flies/’ 

Soon afterwards the sun rose high in the eastern 
sky, and the whole landscape became illuminated by 
its all-powerful rays. 

There, before us, was Scotland, arrayed in all her 
beauty, and from this, the most beautiful spot of her 
loveliest lake, we could see her hills and her valleys, 
her highlands and her lakes, that have made her 
name famous throughout the whole world. 

Carried away by the grandeur of the scene, I could 
not restrain myself from exclaiming, 

“ I salute thee, Scotland! from this, thy most 


256 


The Honeymoon. 

beautiful lake, which the rising sun illuminates with 
its golden rays, oh Scotland, I salute thee! 

“ Thy soil is damp, thy climate is bad, but thou, 
oh Scotland ! know^est how to derive benefit from the 
one, and from the other to adorn thy beauty; mother 
of the lakes, daughter of the mountains, country of 
verdure, how poetical thou art ! All in thee breathes 
love and poetry, all in thee are brave and grand. 
Thou, the most beautiful of the daughters of the 
north, thou unrivalled mother who didst adopt as 
thine own the sons of thy neighbour kingdom, 
when thou gavest thy Stuart king to thy sister of the 
south, thus happily cementing a peaceful union be¬ 
tween two rival powers, henceforth to fight side by 
side, and share each other’s dangers and glories for 
evermore. 

“ Oh, sweet and gentle Scotland, how many brave 
hard-working heroes hast thou nursed on thy bosom ; 
hidden, unthought of by the rest of the universe ? 
Other of thy sons have lived and fought, loved and 
died, but their noble deeds and their gallant actions 
belong to fame, who, like a faithful echo of the past, 
loudly and sweetly sings to-day their praises. 

“ They call thee cold ! Ah ! how little they know 
the hidden fire which burns in thee ! Under the 
bosom which thou so modestly veileth with mists and 
clouds, vaporous as the spray of thy w^ater-falls, there 
lie hidden hearts faithful and true. Yes, thou hast 
been the country of lovers such as Helen Douglas and 
Lucy Ashton, whose lives were filled entirely with 


The Sunrise on the Lake. 257 

one sole, pure, all-consuming passion, thou hast 
suggested those loves, sweet, holy, constant, faithful, 
that are only felt in the north, where the shorter and 
more vehement passions of the south are unknown. 
Thou also wast the mother of heroes such as William 
Wallace and Robert the Bruce, who sacrificed their 
whole lives for thee ; thou didst inspire their abne¬ 
gation and their heroism, thou gavest them courage 
and perseverance. Martyrs found in thee the palm 
of martyrdom, as the sad history of thy beautiful and 
ill-fated Queen Mary, and of many others can attest. 
Great generals, great men of science and of learning, 
great poets and authors, hast thou produced in count¬ 
less numbers. Who could enumerate them ? To 
inventons thou hast also given birth—Watt, to whom 
the world is indebted for its commerce and its riches, 
owes to thee his life and his education. 

“ And thou, oh sun! that in thy ceaseless daily course 
hast beheld all these heroes of the past, risest again to¬ 
day, as thou didst then, to assist at new acts of heroism 
and abnegation. Thou, who art the emblem of progress, 
appearest to direct its course through the centuries ; 
thou, like civilisation, risest in the east, reaching thy 
might in Europe, and disappearing behind the 
immense plains of the far west, whither our civiliza¬ 
tion seems to direct its steps, following in thy wake. 
At this moment thou dost illuminate with all thy 
splendour the rich and prosperous states of Europe, 
after having poured the noontide splendour over 
ancient orient cities and Egyptian monuments of the 
I. R 


258 The Honeymoon . 

past, that once basked in thy effulgence, the light of the 
earth, but thou wilt in turn abandon Europe to bestow 
thy beams on the as yet virgin regions of America. 

“ See this beautiful country, warmed and illu¬ 
mined by thy glorious rays, what success and glory 
has it not achieved \ But what could man not do 
with the sure consciousness that the eye of his Maker 
is upon him ? 

“ They are right, 0I1 Scotland, who call thy capital 
the Athens of the north. Yes ! Mid-Lothian is indeed 
of knowledge the throne, and of modern science the 
cradle ! Edinburgh ! thou, who hast beheld so many 
dramas ; thou, whose soil was watered with the tears 
of the Stuarts ; thou, who hast been so often the 
scene of heroism and crime, of virtue and of humilia¬ 
tion, of glory and of triumph ; thou, who didst listen 
to the sermons of St Augustine, and of Knox ; thou 
who didst stand so firm against Csesar himself, 
deserved in very truth to be the capital of Scot¬ 
land. 

“ And thou, oh Glasgow ! city of riches, to whom, 
not so very long ago, was denied the name of the 
mere capital of a county, to-day, unaided and alone, 
thou hast arisen from the dust to glory and renown. 
City of gold, where every inhabitant owes what he is 
to-day to his work of yesterday; thou, who hast 
known how to enlarge thy river at the same time as 
thy commerce and thy industry ; thou art indeed 
of Caledonia, the populous metropolis ! 

“ Scotland! Scotland ! . . . what words could 


The Sunrise on the Lake. 259 

express all I feel for thee, and what song would be 
sweet or lofty enough to describe thy beauties, and to 
recount thy glories, could one individual judge a 
nation ? 

“ This peaceful lake is a true portrait of thy 
greatness and of thy poetry. As in it, so in thee, 
are reflected all that the world contains that is grand 
and majestic, and the sun shines in his meridian 
splendour over thee as upon these waters, displaying 
all thy beauties and all thy charms. 

“ Conchita! Conchita! would it be possible to 
describe this enchanting scene ? How could any one 
paint those vaporous clouds of golden gauze with 
which these mountains are modestly veiled ? Those 
pure and serene waters which, illuminated by the 
rising sun, appear before our eyes now as a sheet of 
molten silver, now of rippling fire and flame ? And 
those bold rocks that rise against the blue sky like 
the ruined battlements of some Gothic castle, and 
those promontories which rise out of the loch itself, 
and at whose base the white waters dash in foam 
and spray ? And, high above all, Ben Lomond, the 
glory of thy highlands, who, as the monarch of 
those princely giants, presides over this inimitable 
spectacle ? 

“ And those bright clear streams which come down 
with a leap, and a desire to lose themselves in the 
lake ? And those dark burns that come trickling 
through passes and deep ravines to dash in water¬ 
falls upon the waters below ? 


260 The Honeymoon. 

“ And those deep, mysterious caves, where the 
peaceful waters of the lake are lost at every rising 
wave ? And those silent far distant valleys, of which 
the eye just catches a glimpse between the mountains ? 

“ And those transparent waters, where all these 
beauties are portrayed, upon which the clouds, the 
rocks, the crags, the mountain, the streams, the 
waterfall, the cave, and even the shadow of the 
passing bird is reflected ? 

“Ah ! who could paint all this, who could even 
imagine them in all their beauty ? How poor is 
language to give expression to what the eye takes in 
at a glance, and what so deeply touches the heart! ” 

Carried away by my poetical imagination, I had 
climbed up the rock which marked the shores of the 
little isle; and Concliita, moved by the grandeur and 
sublimity of the surrounding scene, had seated herself 
on those same rocks, and had her eyes fixed upon the 
now risen sun, as if she wished to learn from him 
some of the mysteries which he beholds in his daily 
course. 

The day was advancing, and so was the heat, so we 
at last decided on returning to the hotel. It was 
with difficulty, however, that we tore ourselves away 
from this fairy-like scene—a scene that will never be 
blotted out of our minds ! 



CHAPTER XY. 


LOCH KATRINE. 

From Tarbet we proceeded by steamer to Inversnaid, 
where the Arklet, a picturesque little stream, descends 
from the mountains, dashing from rock to rock, and 
from crag to crag, with a beating hollow din. Here 
we took our seats in a sort of a waggonette, drawn by 
four horses, which took us through, or rather over, 
a wild mountain pass, bordering on Loch Arklet, to 
Stronaelilachar, a distance of four or five miles. 

In this primitive little highland village we found 
a fairy steamer, appropriately named ‘ The Lady of 
the Lake/ waiting to take us to the other side of 
Perthshire, through Loch Katrine. 

The first view one obtains of this lovely lake from 
the Stronaelilachar approach is most impressive. 

Loch Katrine is smaller, and perhaps does not possess 
such grand and varied scenery as Loch Lomond, but 
its beauty is even softer, wilder, more compact, more 
picturesque. So true it is that one beauty succeeds 
and ever rivals another in this fairy land. “ It is 
much prettier, much more seductive,” we exclaimed, 
as our tiny steamer wound in and out, sometimes 
appearing perfectly land-locked amid its wooded 


262 


The Honeymoon. 

islands. The banks are thickly covered with the 
most luxuriant foliage, and every tree, and every 
flower is reflected upon the mirror-like surface of its 
calm still waters. Behind the trees, and above the 
ever-green meadows, rise the steep, dark, bold moun¬ 
tains of the Trossaelis, with high Benvenue towering 
above all on the right. 

“ What a scene were here, . . . 

For princely pomp or churchman’s pride. 

On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 

In that soft vale, a lady’s bower ; 

On yonder meadow, far away, 

The turrets of a cloister gray. 

How blithely might the bugle-horn 
Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn 
How sweet, at eve, the lover’s lute 
Chime, when the groves are still and mute ! 

And, when the midnight moon should lave 
Her forehead in the silver wave, 

How solemn on the ear would come 
The holy matin’s distant hum, 

While the deep peal's commanding tone 
Should wake in yonder islet lone, 

A sainted hermit from his cell, 

To drop a bead with every knell— 

And bugle, lute, and bell, and all, 

Should each bewildered stranger call 
To friendly feast and lighted hall.” 

Lock Katrine has been immortalised by Scott, and 
when one beholds its lovely shores, it is impossible 
not to think of the lovely Ellen Douglas steering her 
light bark with skilful oar from shore to isle, and to 
see the royal James casting wondering glances on the 
mysterious scene and the gentle pilot conducting 


Loch Katrine. 


263 


him to a safe haven in her hidden and mj^sterious 
home, and to remember the beautiful and graphic 
descriptions of the Scotch Minstrel. None else could 
paint so truthfully the highland scenes of the Trossachs 
in all their grandeur, none other could make one feel 
the majesty of the lake he has made so famous with 
his verses. I must therefore quote from his poem. 

“ The summer down’s reflected hue 
To purple changed Loch Katrine blue: 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 
Just kissed the lake, like maiden coy, 

Trembled, but dimpled not for joy: 

The mountain shadows on her breast 
Were neither broken nor at rest; 

In bright uncertainty they lie, 

Like future joys to fancy’s eye. 

The w r ater-lily to the light 
Her chalice oped of silver bright; 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn 
Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn ; 

The gray mist left the mountain side, 

The torrent showed its glittering pride ; 

Invisible in flecked sky 

The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 
Good-morrow gave from brake and bush ; 

In answer coo’d the cushat-dove, 

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.” 

The steamer advanced gently along the surface of 
the peaceful water ; the scene became every moment 
more and more intensely lovely. In front of us we 
beheld Ellen’s Isle, so celebrated in the poem. We 
may be told that it is a mere fiction, the mere dream 
of a poetical brain, but is it so ? When one sees the 
lovely islet rock covered with verdure, 


264 


The Honeymoon. 

“ Where for retreat in dangerous hour 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.” 

We cannot doubt of the truth of the romantic 
story of Ellen Douglas and the knight of Snowdon ; 
the whole poem passes before us more like a reality 
than a dream, and every moment one expects to see 
the beautiful lady of the lake emerge from under an 
aged oak, and jump into the little boat that must lie 
concealed behind the luxuriant foliage. 

At last we reached the other end of the lake, where 
we found a coach waiting our arrival, to take us to 
the Ardcheanochrochan hotel, which is situated on 
the banks of Loch Achray. 

To get there we went through the pass of the 
Trossachs, so well described by Sir Walter Scott in 
the following verses :— 

“ The western waves of ebbing day 
Rolled o’er the glen their level way : 

Each purple peak, each flinty spire, 

Was bathed in floods of living fire. 

But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below, 

Where twined the path in shadow hid, 

Round many a rocky pyramid, 

Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; 

Round many an insulated mass, 

The native bulwarks of the pass, 

Huge as the tower which builders vain 
Presumptuous piled on Shinar’s plain, 

Their rocky summits split and rent, 

Formed turret, dome, or battlement, 

Or seemed fantastically set 
With cupola or minaret, 



Loch Katrine. 


265 


Wild crests as pagod ever decked, 

Or mosque of Eastern architect. 

Nor were these earth-born castles bare, 

Nor lacked they many a banner fair; 

For, from their shivered brows displayed, 

Far o’er the unfathomable glade, 

All twinkling with the dew drop’s sheen, 

The brier-rose fell in streamers green, 

And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes, 
Waved in the west wind’s summer sighs. 

Boon Nature scattered, free and wild, 

Each plant or flower, the mountain’s child. 
Here eglantine embalmed the air, 

Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 

The primrose pale, and violet flower, 

Found in each cliff a narrow bower ; 

Fox -glove and night-shade side by side, 
Emblems of punishment and pride, 

Grouped their dark hues with every stain 
The weather-beaten crags retain. 

With boughs that quaked at every breath, 
Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; 

Aloft the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 

And higher yet the pine tree hung 
His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 

His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. 

Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 
Where glist’ning streamers waved and danced, 
The wanderer’s eye could barely view 
The summer heaven’s delicious blue ; 

So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream.” 


Yes, indeed, the scenery was much more like a 
fairy dream than anything else. It would be impos¬ 
sible to describe this beautiful pass as we beheld it 
for the first time in all the glow of an autumn sunset. 


266 


The Honeymoon. 


It would be impossible to render justice to those wild 
and bold rocks hung over with rowan, hawthorn, and 
pine trees, all in their brightest autumn tints. It 
would be impossible to give an idea of the high and 
rugged mountains that surround the pass in all direc¬ 
tions, and that awaken in the beholder a sense of 
over-powering grandeur of awe and mystery ! 

Wordsworth has so well expressed the emotions 
the Trossachs awaken in the mind of the traveller, 
that I cannot refrain from repeating his beautiful 
verses. 

“ There’s not a nook within this solemn pass 
But were an apt confessional for one 
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 

That life is but a tale of morning grass 
Withered at eve. From scenes of art wdiich chase 
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
Feed it ’mid Nature’s old festivities, 

Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 
Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy guest, 

If from a golden perch of aspen spray 
(October’s workmanship to rival May) 

The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 
That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, 

Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! ” 

Early in tlie evening we reached the Trossachs 
hotel, which is situated in front of the little lake of 
Achray, in one of the most beautiful spots of this 
sublime pass. 

After our dinner, Conchita and I went out for a 
walk, and amongst other things we visited the spot 
where the hermit monk foretold the doom of 
Roderick Dhu. 


Lock Katrine. 


267 


“ How haunted all this district seems to he with 
the genius of Scott,” said Conchita, seating herself 
upon some rocks that bounded the narrow ravine of 
Glenfinlass. 

“ Yes, my love, it costs us a sigh to doubt the 
truth of his wild romantic tales, when one closes the 
book after having read them at home in a comfortable 
drawing-room of modern times ; but when one tra¬ 
verses this rugged pass, when one beholds this lovely 
smiling fairy-like isle on Loch Katrine, one can no 
longer deny the reality of his fantastic dreams, we are 
under the spell of his harp, and we must take as a 
reality the whole of his lay.” 

“ Don’t you know some romantic story, Walter, 
associated with this wild mountain pass ? You know 
how fond I am of listening to your legends, and at 
the present moment anything associated with Scot¬ 
land would have the greatest interest for me.” 

“ I know an old legend of the feudal times of 
Scottish history, which, although it has nothing what¬ 
ever to do with the beautiful glen in which we are at 
the present moment, may perhaps interest you.” 

I seated myself by her side among the blooming 
purple heather, and, with my arm supporting her 
beloved form, I began the following story. 


END OF VOL I. 
















































































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